


Trapped In Amber

by happylittlebumblebee



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 130,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happylittlebumblebee/pseuds/happylittlebumblebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is drifting through his senior year of high school; he bothers no-one, and finally no-one bothers him. In the four years since his mother’s death when he was thirteen years old, Kurt and his father have become strangers living in the same house. Until one day an overly-enthusiastic transfer student from some private school is asking him for directions, and his father brings home the mother of his once-tormentor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Gorgeous banner by [gleeklainebow](http://gleeklainebow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Many thanks to my betas: thestringsarefalse, completelyunabashed, the-water-nixie, and alianne. You are all angels <3.

Kurt flung out an arm onto the surrounding grass in frustration, lamenting, not for the first time, the fact that smoking was such an outdoors-based activity. He squinted angrily up at the sun and shoved his sunglasses further up his nose, fruitlessly willing the cloud to shift just a tiny bit to the right so it would offer him a glimmer of relief from the blazing heat.

He had been enjoying an unscheduled - and not entirely permitted - break on the grassy slope next to the bleachers, idly sucking on a cigarette whilst considering which colours to streak his hair with next. He was enjoying it, that was,  _before_  the sun had decided to make an appearance. The sun made everything seem  _harder._ So much more energy was required in the heat. Sunglasses had to be dug out. Black skinny jeans became slightly uncomfortable. Doc Martens began to rub. His beanie began to scratch irritably at the back of his neck. Not to mention the light that reflected off his various piercings, nearly blinding him in the reflection from his phone. 

It was, all things considered, an absolute nightmare.

A high-pitched shriek sounded from down on the football field. Kurt groaned. Apparently the appearance of the sun also meant that the Cheerios had their practice out on the pitch instead of in the gym. Fucking  _great_.

He propped himself up on one elbow and glared disdainfully down as they made their way out onto the track and started their warm-ups. He slowly dragged on the cigarette between his lips, watching now with amusement as the swarm of perky red and white uniforms arranged themselves in a variety of completely unimaginative shapes with varying levels of success. 

And then, as if the universe was conspiring against him ( _Would he ever be able to have a fucking cigarette in peace?)_ the tinny speakers above him crackled into life, spouting out some pop-py, Top 40 fucking  _crime_  of a song. He flopped back down onto the grass with a deep sigh, feeling around with one hand for his bag. He finally grabbed it and pulled it closer to his side. Flipping open the messenger flap, he safely tucked away the corner of a silk scarf poking out from one of the front pockets, before digging around for his headphones. He unwound them quickly and jammed them over his head. He was going for limited exposure - he knew that kind of ‘music’ was contagious.

He pressed play, closed his eyes and shut out the world. Finally,  _finally_  he could lose himself in a glorious world of heady smoke and beautiful boys wielding guitars.

 

*

 

Kurt woke to a smack on the arm and his headphones being dragged from his ears.

“Oi!,” he barked, struggling to sit up as he untangled himself from the wires of his headphones.

Quinn stood in front of him, arms half crossed across her chest with her cigarette pinched between graceful fingers. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Bitch,” he muttered. “I was quite happy there, thanks.”

“You weren’t going to invite me?” she asked. “I just sat through an hour of Hoffenburg rambling on about some boring shit while you were  _here_  the whole time? You couldn’t have shot me a text so I could skip too?”

“So sorry,” Kurt retorted. He shifted slightly on the grass, careful to avoid potential grass stains as he fished around for his severely squashed pack of cigarettes in his jeans’ pocket. He drew one between his lips. “I was busy. Couldn’t text. No time.”

Quinn scoffed lightly. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” She settled herself down on the grass next to Kurt.

 “You’ll be really sad to hear that you missed another riveting performance from the nude erections while you were down here at lunch,” she continued, idly picking at the grass around her feet. “They keep managing to get more and more shitty. I don’t know how they do it. Must be a gift.”

Kurt shrugged noncommittally. He had never really given any of the glee kids much thought. Generally he tried to steer clear of them as much as possible. They were just so obnoxiously enthusiastic about everything. It was very tiring.

“As long as they don’t start bursting into song under the bleachers I don’t really give a fuck.” 

Quinn nodded, flicking the ashes from her cigarette to the side before lying down next to him. She growled in annoyance as she shifted restlessly on the grass, trying to arrange her long black skirt to sit comfortably beneath her. Heat and a love of layers did not mix well.

She brought the pink-rimmed sunglasses down from where they were perched on her head, scowling up at the source of heat. “Fucking sun.” 

The corners of Kurt’s mouth twitched upwards in silent agreement.

 

*

 

Blaine’s first week at McKinley High had gone by in a hectic whirlwind as he had tried to grasp an understanding of the school around him. It seemed to have the same cliche rigid and unyielding social ladder he remembered all too well from his first high school. He knew exactly where on that ladder he was supposed to be - his feet would never leave the ground.

He refused to look at it as anything other than a good thing. If he was at the bottom of the food-chain it meant he had the freedom to do whatever he wanted. Nobody had any expectations of him and how he was supposed to act other than keeping out of the way of jocks and cheerleaders. 

That meant that the first thing Blaine had ensured do after getting his schedule was sign-up for Glee Club. It had become his life at Dalton - the centre of all friendships and relationships, all his free time had been spent hanging with the Warblers. He hoped that New Directions would be the same. They had  _looked_  like a proper group at least, when he watched them perform in the courtyard one lunchtime. He had been pleased to see that most of them had had the chance of a few lines of solo, or at least a dance solo. In the Warblers he had tried to share the wealth of solos, but most of their numbers ended up being his and his alone. He squirmed a bit with embarrassment remembering how little he had actually actively fought against that. The New Directions looked like they would be a welcome change of pace.

The morning of his first meeting dawned bright, the fall sun streaming through his windows. He woke at the first chirp of his alarm and wiggled his toes in the warm sunlight under the covers. A grin made its way across his face. Today would be a good day.

He bounced out of bed, and showered and dressed in record time. He had carefully laid out his audition outfit the night before: red high-waters neatly pressed and black polo folded smartly on the chair in the corner of his room, bow tie resting over the arm.

Once he was all set, he considered his reflection in the mirror with a critical eye: hair gelled neatly down, stripy bow-tie knotted tightly at his neck and trousers smoothed carefully down his legs. He twisted the bow-tie slightly, slid on his shoes and grabbed his keys. 

He was ready. 

 

*

 

The day passed quickly in a blur of classes and new friends; before he knew it the last bell had gone and it was time to make his way down to the choir room. 

If he could find it, that was. 

He was  _sure_  it was around here somewhere. He wandered around the corridors, figuring he would at least hear some singing to guide him. After a couple of minutes and still nothing, he guessed he must be on the wrong floor and made his way to the only staircase he knew: the metal steps winding their way up the walls of the courtyard. He turned the corner and made his way up from the ground floor.

He came to an abrupt halt when he realised there was someone sitting on the floor between the two flights of stairs. 

He recognised him from around the halls. The boy had always been seemingly inseparable from the pink-haired girl, but now he was alone. He was resting back against the mesh railings, one leg flung out straight ahead of him, the other tucked up with his elbow resting on it as he lazily waved around a cigarette to the beat of music inaudible to Blaine. He had a chunky set of headphones resting over an artfully placed beanie. Peeking out from the front of the grey hat was a shock of multi-coloured hair effortlessly swept-up into a quiff. Numerous piercings glinted out at Blaine - he could see at least three in each ear, a couple in his eyebrows, one in his bottom lip, and, going by the clicking sound the boy was making as he shifted his jaw back and forth, a tongue bar. 

He was dressed in a slightly faded black v-neck which contrasted stunningly with his pale ivory skin, collar bones showing as his neck contracted to breathe out the smoke as slowly as he could. 

Blaine’s gaze gradually made its way back up to his face. It had gentle features underneath all the hardware - a cute, upturned nose and wide, soft lips.

He was unlike anyone Blaine had ever met before.

The boy’s ice-blue gaze bored into his hazel. Blaine started and flushed slightly with embarrassment as he realised how long he’d been staring at him. He swallowed thickly and forced a smile onto his face.

“Hi!” he said, as brightly as he could. “I was wondering if you could help me?”

The boy made no response. He continued to stare at Blaine, taking slow drags on his cigarette.

Blaine persisted, widening his smile. “Please?” he implored, “I’m new here and a bit lost.”

The boy heaved a deep sigh and raised a hand to his headphones, dragging one of the earpieces back to rest on the side of his head.

“What do you want?” The boy asked, his voice raspy.

“Directions, please,” Blaine said, with a thankful smile. “I can’t seem to find the choir room. I thought I knew where it was, but I guess not!”

“The choir room?” he asked, smirking at Blaine. “Should have guessed. You’re the fucking same as the rest of them. Well, you’ll fit right in anyway.”

Blaine wasn’t entirely sure how to take that. He decided to move on as quickly as possible.

“So, um, how do I get there?”

“Back the way you came. Turn left at the bottom of the stairs and keep going. It’s on the right. You can’t miss it. Unfortunately.”

“Thank you so much.” He smiled down at the boy gratefully. “I’m Blaine, by the way.” He stuck his hand out.

The boy eyed it warily. Eventually he sighed, transferred his cigarette to the other hand and grasped it. “Kurt.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Kurt!” Blaine said. 

Blaine knew he was carrying this conversation, but found he didn’t really mind. After only a few minutes speaking to ( _at_ ) him, this boy fascinated him.

Whenever he had seen him in the hallways around school before, a cloud of cool indifference seemed to follow him and the girl around, mingling with the ever-present blanket of smoke to ensure that no-one ever came near them. They were untouchable. Never even speaking up in class, they drifted around school with an air of nonchalance and superiority. They clearly thought school was a waste of their time.

So why was he still here when he didn’t have to be?

He wanted to know him.

“You might want to be careful,” he advised, for want of something else to say.

Kurt tilted his head in a silent question.

“Sitting there. Smoking,” he continued. “There are loads of teachers about. I’m pretty sure it’s against school rules to smoke on school property, not to mention it’s probably illegal as well.”

“How kind of you to consider my well-being,” Kurt drawled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, thanks so much for that brand new information. I’ll be sure to keep a watchful eye out for those pesky teachers you speak of.”

He drew the headphones back over his ear and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the railings. It was a clear dismissal.

Blaine shook his head slightly in disbelief. He was just trying to help.

Shaking himself off, he turned and made his way back down the stairs. 

Even as he heard the unmistakable sound of the New Directions warming up in the distance, his thoughts drifted back to a certain ivory-skinned boy. How long was he going to stay sat halfway up that staircase?

And how had he managed to capture Blaine so completely after a single stunted conversation? 


	2. Chapter 2

Glee Club turned out to be so much more than Blaine could ever have imagined. It was more chaotic, more boisterous, more tiring, more  _alive_  than he could have foreseen last year when he had been sat primly on the worn leather couches in Warblers’ Hall. He had known New Directions were somewhat ‘looser’ than the Warblers - that was, after all, a big part of their appeal - but he hadn’t quite appreciated the energy and complete lack of order that went along with that.

He had opened the door cautiously to find the group mid-warm up. Or rather, one girl was stood next to the piano, hand on her stomach as she went diligently through her scales. The rest of the club sat on the risers behind her showing differing levels of input, varying from those trying valiantly to look interested to those purposefully ignoring her, tapping away on their phones or openly chatting away amongst themselves. 

They had all turned when he opened the door, his arrival apparently still a shock even though he had dutifully filled in the sign-up sheet that had been pinned to the board outside. The girl had turned to glare at him for the interruption. He smiled apologetically at her, and her expression transformed in the blink of an eye to a huge grin, snatching up the sheet of paper on which Blaine recognised his own signature from the piano.

“Are you Blaine Anderson?,” she demanded, without so much as a greeting.

“Um, yes, actually-”

“Are you the same Blaine Anderson who led the Dalton Academy Warblers to victory at Regionals last year?” the girl continued, paying him no heed.

“Yes, that’s me, I-”

“Are you,” she interrupted once again. “-the same Blaine Anderson who single-handedly turned a group of classical choral singers into the all-singing all-dancing club that performed Teenage Dream, all within just a few months?”

“Well, actually I don’t think that was entirely-”

She opened her mouth to ask another question.

“Rachel!” a black girl admonished before she could say anything more. “Let the boy breathe.”

“You’re going to scare him off before he’s even been able to say ‘hi’,” a girl with black hair and blue streaks chipped in from further back up the risers. “We can’t afford to be doing that when we’re so down on members.”

Rachel looked rather affronted, but nevertheless took a step back, allowing Blaine to walk to the centre of the room.

The teacher (“Call me Mr Shue”) invited himto audition, although he did say it wasn’t necessary. Blaine had quickly accepted. He wanted to feel like he deserved to be there. He needed to have rightfully earned his spot in the club.

After much deliberation, he had decided to go with an energetic rendition of Tom Jones’ classic ‘It’s Not Unusual’. He bounced around the room, playing off the band, dancing crazily and just  _letting go_  for the first time it what seemed like forever. It felt absolutely  _fantastic._ By the end of it the whole glee club were up on their feet, dancing and harmonising along effortlessly. 

He felt somehow accepted, already one of the group even though they barely knew him. After working so hard at Dalton to fit in, it was a relief to just slot into place, no questions asked.

 

*

 

Later that evening the sun began to descend in the sky over McKinley High, everything the light touched set aglow in muted reds and golds. Kurt still sat motionless on the floor just as Blaine had left him, the complex lattice work of the metal enclosure casting delicate shadows weaving back and forth over him, dipping and diving over the contours of his face and up into his hair. The only thing that had moved was the pair of headphones, which now hung loosely around his long, pale neck.

He had slung them off as the boy had tripped off down the stairs and scampered out of sight down the corridor. The distant sounds of the choir had increased in volume briefly as Blaine had reached his destination and opened the door, before being cut off abruptly as it clicked shut behind him.

And so he returned to his former state, headphones on, cigarette in, eyes closed. Shut off from the world, just as he liked it.

No one else had bothered him. But then, no one ever bothered him,  _period._  

Except, apparently, bow-tie wearing munchkins with serious boundary issues.

Kurt considered the boy as he began absentmindedly clicking his eyebrow bar in and out place. Blaine was no-doubt insatiably enthusiastic and unquestionably irritating in his rule-abiding ways, yet there was a warmth which emanated from him that was surprisingly…endearing. 

Kurt snorted inelegantly to himself. He must be going soft. He’d be adopting puppies and feeding the homeless next.

His phone lay next to him on the cold concrete, abandoned and deliberately ignored as it buzzed incessantly. He didn’t need to even bother to look at it to see who was trying to contact him; he knew exactly who each message was from. 

Heaving a long-suffering sigh he finally dragged himself up off the ground, carefully brushing off his jeans before slinging his bag across his chest. He supposed he would have to get this over with.

He made his way through the now silent school, the corridors infinitely improved by the absence of the surging bodies that usually pushed and pulled at him from all sides. They were nothing but ghosts now, spectral hands reaching out from closed lockers. This was the only time he ever felt comfortable here, when the school was empty like this with its eerie allure; a place usually teeming with life left vacantly dormant. The echoes of laughter and jeers resonated around the walls, the vestiges of sneers and jibes and squeaking sneakers. It was as if the buildings needed a few moments to themselves to breathe again before the onslaught began again in the morning, a deep breath of anticipation before the plunge.

Kurt was just crossing the front of the school when the double doors banged open, spilling about a dozen people out into the parking lot. They began to walk in his direction, darting around and chatting over one another, a couple of them breaking out into song for no apparent reason. Could they  _be_  more of a cliché? It was like something from fucking  _Fame._  (The original version of course.)

He caught sight of Blaine among them, already fitting in seamlessly with the group. He was having a very animated conversation with the short(est) and (most) intense girl. Kurt remembered she had once asked his (assuredly expert) opinion on getting gold streaks in her hair. He had stared at her incredulously as she prattled on about metaphors and stars and how his hair was in such flawless condition ‘even given the obvious stress he had put it through over the years’. He had held up a hand, stopping her mid-flow to point out cuttingly that gold was, in fact, a shade of blonde (which, in all her excitement about metaphors, had seemed to escape her notice), and to tell her that it would be better if she directed these questions at someone qualified to answer, or, you know, someone who actually  _gave a shit._ He had walked off before she had time to formulate a response, leaving her spluttering and gesticulating wildly at the empty corridor. 

Thankfully she hadn’t tried to speak to him since.

Blaine seemed to be managing to keep up with her just fine though, listening intently and replying with equal passion. He caught Kurt’s eye on one of his particularly extravagant gestures and broke off to wave happily over at him. The girl prodded Blaine and glared at him, hissing something in his ear. Blaine shrugged and walked off, leaving her standing there. She gave Kurt a quick look of disapproval before scurrying off after the other boy. 

Kurt stood, slightly bemused, and watched Blaine bid farewell to the rest of the glee kids and climb into his car. He had apparently already become fast friends with all of them; show-tunes and saccharine pop were clearly excellent bonding material. 

Shaking his head, Kurt turned his back on them, finally heading for home. 

 

*

 

Kurt trudged up the front steps of his house and slipped in the front door, closing it quietly behind him. If he could just make it up the stairs silently and then to his room, maybe he wouldn’t even have to deal-

“Kurt!” His father’s voice hollered from deep within the house. 

Kurt’s head dropped to his chest in defeat. “Must have the hearing of a fucking  _bat_ ,” he muttered sullenly to himself.

“Yup!” his father yelled cheerily from the kitchen. “Get in here, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

He let his bag fall the floor with a thunk and leant forward to pick despondently at his laces. He didn’t want to meet another mechanic, or campaign manager or whoever the fuck else his dad was talking to these days. His father didn’t seem to understand that he  _just didn’t care._  

Usually he let Kurt keep himself to himself. They gave each other space and got on with things just fine on their own. Their only regular time together was Friday Night Dinners (capitalisation necessary), which tended to amount to the two of them sat awkwardly on opposite sides of the table, Kurt grunting out monosyllabic answer after monosyllabic answer until his father would get tired of asking futile questions about school and whatever other irrelevant subject he could think of. Then they would sit in silence or turn on the TV in the sitting room for some background noise until Kurt retreated to his room, where he would remain until the morning.

But sometimes, and apparently now was one of those times, he decided that they needed to do things together - he would drag Kurt out to football matches, or down to the garage for a few hours. One time he had tried to take Kurt to the huge music store on the outskirts of town, apparently in the hope to ‘engage him on his level’. His father had been dreadfully misinformed that the store actually contained any music of acceptable levels of decency. That, Kurt reflected with a shudder, had not been a good day.

He pulled off his boots and tucked them carefully against the wall, next to his dad’s work boots and what looked like a pair of women’s clogs. Jesus. He needed to give his father a talking to about the company he kept, if the kind of people he was meeting wore clogs.  _Clogs._ Yeesh.

He made his way to the kitchen, carefully adjusting his beanie in the hall mirror on the way through. 

Stood in the kitchen was a short middle-aged woman wearing some truly horrendous acid-wash jeans and sporting some badly bleached blond hair.  And  _oh my god_ was that-? Yes, yes it was. Double denim. 

Good lord.

Kurt leant casually against the doorframe and gave his dad a grimace.

“Wha-,” he began to ask. But then he noticed with a sudden sharp twist to his gut that his father had a hand resting on the woman’s lower back, gently pushing her forwards towards him. A hand, Kurt realised with a sinking heart, which was bereft of a wedding ring. 

He had no idea how long his father hadn’t been wearing it. Did he lose it? Did he forget it?  _How could he forget it?_

He was sure his dad was saying something but he couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. His whole world was zooming in on to the way his dad was  _touching_  her; all soft caresses and knowing squeezes, accompanied by a bashful shyness on both their parts that spoke volumes of the newness of … of whatever it was that they were.

His stomach lurched at the possibilities.

“Kurt,” his dad’s gruff voice finally pierced through the fog. “Bud, I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for a coupl’a weeks but you keep on ignoring me. So I figured maybe it might just be easier for you two to meet. This is Carole.”

He had to force himself to look at her. She was smiling slightly nervously at him, one of her hands clutching the worktop, knuckles glaring white against the dark granite counter. 

The same dark granite counter which had been picked out so painstakingly by him and his mother when he was 11. The interior design magazine they had pored over for ideas and mood boards for the renovation of the kitchen was still in Kurt’s bedroom, pink post-its still stuck securely to all the particularly noteworthy designs. He knew exactly where it was, buried deep in a carefully sealed plastic box he had tried to forget about too many times. It was a constant physical reminder of all the things he knew his mind would never allow him to forget.

Apparently his father did not have the same problem.

He couldn’t do this. 

“What-,” he tried again, before breaking off, the words stuck in his throat as it constricted and contracted uncontrollably.

He couldn’t breathe.

_Swallow_. 

_Deep breath_. 

_Start again_. 

“Who are you?” he finally challenged, looking her straight in the eye.

“I-, I’m Carole.”

“No shit,” he scoffed sarcastically. “Dad covered that, thanks. You didn’t answer my question. Who  _are you?_ ”

“Kurt!,” his father admonished. “C’mon, be nice.”

“No, it’s okay,” The woman said, resting a placating hand on his dad’s arm. Kurt eyed it with unmasked contempt. “I’m Carole Hudson. You might know my son, Finn? He goes to McKinley too.”

“Oh, I know Finn Hudson alright,” he said flatly.

“Great!” she said, ignoring his less than positive reaction to the mention of her son. “Well, I met your dad at a parents’ meeting a few weeks back and I guess we just hit it off right away. I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you.”

Kurt didn’t reply. Couldn’t reply. Everything he had was going into keeping his face passive. 

So he just stared at them, eyes flicking between the pair of them. He felt caged in all of a sudden. Claustrophobic and hemmed in. Trapped.

His father walked towards him and clapped him heavily on the shoulder. His knees nearly buckled underneath him.

“Well, kiddo, we have a dinner reservation soon. I just wanted you both to meet. How about we have dinner just the three of us another time? You should get to know each other.” 

Kurt swallowed. That was the last thing he wanted. But he needed to get out of this room and he didn’t have the fight in him to object. He nodded stiffly and turned his back on them, trying to control his pace while putting as much distance between them as possible. He paused at the top of the stairs. He could hear them talking to each other in low voices. Kurt hadn’t heard his father talking with such warmth in his voice since-

For a long time.

After a few minutes they made their way out, still talking softly as they walked through the hallway and out of the front door. Kurt quietly tip-toed down the stairs as they shut the door behind them. He cracked open the door and watched as his father rushed around the car to open the door for a giggling Carole, who was pretending to swoon at the very sight. The engine roared into life, and Kurt just caught a glimpse of them laughing with heads bent close together, before the in-car lights flicked off as they pulled out into the road and drove off into the night.

He opened the door fully and sat heavily on the stoop, leaning against the frame as he tiredly reached back for his pack of Marlboro Reds. He didn’t want to go back inside. The house felt colder and emptier than it ever had.

He stretched out his legs in front him, slinging one ankle over the other and wedging one hand between his thighs. The picture of apathy was betrayed only by the slight shaking of his fingers as he raised the cigarette to his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt sat on the top of the climbing frame in the empty park, legs swinging gently beneath him. Both elbows were drawn up to rest on the bars in front of him, one hand tucked under his chin as he gazed out over the deserted playground. The echoes of children’s shouts had long since died down, tugged away firstly by the breeze and then later by their mothers, all rushing to get home to their families. 

In one hand he clutched a lighter, compulsively flicking it open and closed with a satisfying click. The corner of a silk scarf peeked out from the pocket of his jeans, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Over the past few days he had spent less and less time at home, trying to dodge any possible interaction with his dad, or, even worse, with  _her._  

Mornings were easy. His father left early for the garage, so Kurt could lie still in bed until he had heard the car pull out of the driveway. Then and only then would he pad softly through the empty house to the kitchen. He would sit over his fruit and yogurt at the breakfast bar, relishing the silence as the light slowly crept up from the shadows to envelope the house in an illusion of warmth. But the weak fall sun never managed to permeate the ever-present chill blanketing the picture-perfect family home. 

The daytime passed slowly. He had carefully cultivated a look of ‘attentive detachment‘ in class, being sure not to show any interest whilst trying to learn as much as possible. Carefully maintaining a slightly above average grade was harder than one might imagine – falling too far either side would attract attention, and he preferred to slip by unnoticed by teachers and students alike.  

After school he usually retreated to his staircase in the courtyard. He would watch as the janitors ‘cleaned’ the area of the debris left by the negligent masses from lunchtime. Although, Kurt mused, it would be much more pertinent to call it ‘futile rearrangement of trash’ since they never seemed to actually clear anything from the tables. And Figgins wondered why the school had a low hygiene rating.

The evenings were the most problematic part of his day. Either he would shut himself in his room, or head down to the park once he was sure all the kids would be gone. The latter, however, was becoming more and more difficult as winter began to rear its frosty head, bitter winds tearing through the small clearing.

“Hey.”

He started out of his musings, looking down at the source of the voice. Quinn.

He grunted in acknowledgment as she nimbly climbed up the wooden frame and settled down next to him, slipping her legs next to his under the bars. 

“Can I grab a light?”

He held it out to her in response. She reached for the cigarette she had tucked behind her ear and lit it with one hand, sheltering it from the wind with the other. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the rare moment of peace.

Their relationship was one that required few words; the other’s presence was enough. There was an understanding between them, an acceptance that they had both been through shit, but were still going, and would keep going.

One cigarette later, she spoke. “Noah talked to me today.”

Kurt considered her carefully. She was leaning fully over the bars, staring down past her feet to the chippings covering the floor beneath the climbing frame. Her hair was falling over her face, but Kurt could just make out her eyes, slightly red and glassy. “Yeah?” he probed.

“Yeah.”

Kurt sighed. “What did he say?” he pushed.

“He said that he wanted to put everything behind us and move on. Just like that. And  _then_ he asked if I wanted to join their merry bunch of freaks again. Apparently they’re short a few members.” She scoffed, taking a quick drag on her cigarette. “He can fuck right off.”

Kurt hummed in agreement. “They’re still short on members?” he asked before he could stop himself. “Even though Blaine joined?”

“Who is  _Blaine?_ ”

Fuck. “New kid,” he said casually. “Preppy do-gooder transfer student.” 

“And you talked to him? You don’t talk to anyone if you can help it.”

“Yeah, well. It was more him talking  _at_  me.”

She didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“But you  _noticed_ him.” 

“You can’t  _not_ notice him,” he protested. “He’s like a flamboyant light-house beaming out over a dull flat sea.”

She snorted softly in amusement, but then turned to him, studying him closely. He could feel his face heating up under her scrutiny, and looked the other way, trying to casually block his face with his hand. Fucking pale complexion always letting him down.

“But you noticed him,” she repeated quietly. 

 

*

 

The next day at school Kurt drifted along the hall as usual, not paying any attention to the hordes of people pushing and shoving around him in the rush between classes. He came to an abrupt stop, a solid wall of red and white blocking the corridor in front of him completely.

“Out of the way, freak.”

He blinked and jolted back against the lockers, swallowing the shame he felt with himself for _still_ being afraid. The jocks all held cups filled with bright red slushie. They were strutting down the corridor in a line, laughing as students jumped out of their way in fright. 

They stopped a little way down the hallway, crowding around one person at a locker. Kurt peered over in spite of himself to try and see who it was. He could just make out a head of dark hair and a horrendous checked shirt with a white bow-tie tied neatly at his throat. 

Blaine.

There was a loud crash as a pile of textbooks tumbled to the ground from his arms, and then a thunderous cheer as a splatter sounded along the hall, some of the slushie hit the lockers and floor. Most of it, though, hit Blaine in the face, all but silent save for a short, sharp, human gasp. 

The jocks were all laughing and punching each other on the arm, already ignoring the boy in front of them completely. They ambled off down the hall, the echoes of their laughter reverberating through the school. 

Kurt looked around, hoping that one of the glee kids would be around to help Blaine. He couldn’t seem to avoid them anymore;  _surely_ one of them must be around. O _f fucking course_ the one time he needed them they weren’t there. 

He glanced back at Blaine. He was blinking rapidly, rooted to the spot and too shocked to move. Chunks of the coloured ice were running down his face and onto the floor like icy tears, forming a small puddle around his feet. It was slipping quickly out of his glossy hair (so the gel  _did_  have a use - slushie repellent) and dropping down his shirt, the red ice dying the shirt to look like some kind of tie-dye disaster. Because the shirt clearly didn’t have enough colours already. It would be no great tragedy if it was ruined forever, Kurt reflected. At least something good could come from this. 

The stream of students was resolutely ignoring Blaine, continuing their conversations as they filtered past him like a river split by a boulder. He could see Blaine begin to swipe at his eyes desperately, the shock wearing off as the pain set in.

There was  _still_ no-one of any use around.    

Oh  _fucking hell_.

 

*

 

Blaine felt like all of his senses were being assaulted at once. The cacophony of dismissive students swirling around him left him disorientated and confused. His eyes were burning even as he tried desperately to get rid of the slushie. The cherry flavour was already turning bitter in his mouth, and he could feel the lumps of ice under his shirt, sticking uncomfortably to his skin. 

He flinched at the touch of a hand on his arm.  _Please don’t have come back._  He felt incredibly vulnerable, stranded blind in the middle of the corridor. He half expected them to come back so they could do some ‘real damage’ now he was incapacitated. He blinked even faster, trying to flush the slushie from his eyes to see who was stood in front of him.

“It’s okay, they’ve gone,” a familiar voice said quietly. “Close your eyes. You need to wash this off straight away. Come on into the bathroom.”

A second hand fell on his other arm and loosely guided him through a door into what he presumed was the bathroom. The powerful odour of smoke filled his nostrils and he suppressed a great sigh of relief. It was Kurt.  _Kurt_  was standing close behind him, pushing him across the room. This close he could trace undertones of lavender and lemongrass through the smoke that were surprisingly comforting. The hands released him and he was gently ordered to remain still.

He stood obediently as he heard the taps squeak open, feeling the faint splashes of water warm against his shivering body.

“Okay, it’s full,” Kurt said, pushing him gently forward with a hand to his lower back. “You should wash your eyes out first.”  

He reached out blindly in front of him for the sink, gratefully sinking his hands into the warm water when his hands hit the cool porcelain. The hand vanished from his back, leaving him colder than ever. He leant over and scooped water up over his face, scrubbing away as much of the freezing slushie as he could. He glanced up at himself into the mirror. His face was red raw, eyes peeking out through swollen skin. Most of the ice had been washed away, and just a few lumps were left sticking under his shirt.

“Thank you,” he turned slightly to face Kurt in the mirror, who was now leaning back against the wall by the door, watching him closely.

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. “Someone had to do it,” he said. “You were starting to flail around like a fish on dry land. I had to put you out of your misery.”

“No you didn’t,” Blaine said slowly, turning around to look at Kurt properly. “You didn’t have to help me. No-one else did.”  _No-one ever does._

Kurt dropped his gaze to the floor. Blaine could see his eyes flickering across the tiles, tracing the pattern as they zigzagged across the room. 

He finally looked up, directly meeting Blaine’s eyes. “No-one has ever done this for me,” he said, almost defiantly, daring Blaine to ask exactly what he meant. “I am hoping for some kind of karmic recompense I suppose.”

“You get slushied?” He couldn’t imagine anyone ever having the nerve to do that to Kurt. But then again, he couldn’t imagine even doing that to anyone, so what did he know?

“Got - past tense,” Kurt elucidated. “My slushied days are over.”  

“Why?” Blaine asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “Why did they stop?”

“I suppose the fuckers got bored of it.” The corners of Kurt’s mouth turned up bitterly. “I think they managed to make their point anyway.” 

Blaine didn’t understand. How could they have got bored of it when they had just relished in giving the same treatment to him? He must be missing something.

He opened his mouth to ask, but promptly shut it again once he saw the expression on Kurt’s face. The bitter smile had faded, leaving him looking completely defeated. He seemed absolutely exhausted, slumped back heavily against the wall. 

“Well, anyway, thank you again,” he said, searching out those ice-blue eyes. “It really does mean a lot to me.”

Kurt nodded, almost to himself, and then gestured at him. “Your shirt is ruined. Do you have a spare in your locker?”

He looked down at his sodden chest. There was no way he could sit in this for the rest of the day. “No,” he sighed.

“You might want to start keeping a change of clothes at school in case this happens again. I still keep some in my locker just in case. You could borrow a t-shirt if you wanted, they’re all clean and everything. I get it if you don’t want to though, I was just offering. You probably don’t want one of my t-shirts. But, um, it’s there if you want it,” Kurt trailed off awkwardly, his voice rising at the end as if it was a question. He twisted his hands nervously ( _nervously?)_ in front of him, before he seemed to realise what he was doing and pulled them down by his side.

Blaine smiled kindly at him. “That would be fantastic, thank you.” He grimaced, “I don’t want to be stuck in this gross thing all day at all.”

“I’ll just-,” Kurt gestured towards the door. “-Go get you one.”

Kurt slipped out of the door, silently pulling the door closed after him.

Blaine stared at the door long after it had shut. Kurt seemed to be embarrassed to have shown an act of kindness, and uncomfortable with Blaine’s gratitude. Or was that unfamiliarity? 

He turned slowly back to the sink. The water was now dyed pale red, leaving an ominous scarlet stain around the edge of the water-level. He quickly looked away and pulled the plug. _No._  He was not going to think about that now. 

He ran the taps for a few moments to be sure all the dye had gone before refilling it, this time hotter and with some soap squeezed into it. He rubbed roughly over his face, trying to clear his thoughts. Worse things had happened than to have an ice-cold drink thrown in his face. It was fine.  _He_ was fine. It was just a bit of food colouring.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and started to peel it back from over his skin. Just as he reached the last button the door opened to reveal Kurt, now clutching a small black bundle.

Kurt paused half way through the door. His eyes were fixed on Blaine’s chest, which Blaine glanced down to see was covered in the dye, chunks of ice still dripping to the ground. 

“Sorry,” Kurt squeaked. “I can just, go back, I’ll come b-”

“No, no it’s fine,” Blaine said, drawing the shirt back closely around him and folding his arm tightly across his chest. Kurt was still staring at him strangely. Oh no, the red, he must think-

“It’s just dye,” he rushed to clarify.

“I know,” Kurt replied, slightly questioningly.  _Of course it was dye you idiot. Why would it be anything else?_

Kurt held out the t-shirt to him. Blaine grabbed it thankfully with one hand, the other keeping firm hold of his own shirt. He looked down at the soft black v-neck in his hands. There was a large label on the inside of the back of the neck, but it seemed to have been blacked out. Blaine thought he could just make out an ‘M’ and an ‘A’. Wait. 

“Is this Marc Jacobs?” he asked incredulously.

Kurt looked at him with wide eyes, startled. “You know designers?” 

“ _You_ know designers?”

Kurt drew himself up. “And why wouldn’t I?”

“Because-,” he said, gesturing wildly at Kurt’s form in front of him. “Because you have a strict uniform of black skinny jeans, t-shirts and loose-fitting cardigans. Because your hair is-, is the way it is. Because I’ve only ever see you wear one pair of boots. Because you’re…you.” 

For some reason, Kurt was looking slightly pleased. “You should know, Blaine, that a t-shirt is never just a t-shirt,” he began condescendingly. “Black skinny jeans most certainly  _aren’t_ just black skinny jeans. You clearly don’t know that much about designers if you think I’ve been wearing the same jeans for the past couple of weeks.” He wrinkled his nose at the very idea.

Blaine grinned openly at him. “Okay, then. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

“I have, in fact, nine pairs of ‘black skinny jeans’. They all have completely different cuts, different treatments, and different  _colours_ even,” Kurt said, his face growing more animated by the second. “True black is almost impossible to find. And as I said, a t-shirt is never simply a t-shirt. The cut is absolutely vital. It has to sit just right on your shoulders, and either nip in at the waist  _just-so_ or hang loosely in a flattering manner. And as for my boots-“

He was interrupted just as he was getting into his stride by the door banging open against the wall. Rachel was digging through her bag as she walked absently towards Blaine, completely in her own world. 

“Rachel, what are you doing in here?” Blaine squawked. She looked up startled, and glanced between Kurt and Blaine. Kurt seemed to deflate, coming back to himself (or was it away from himself?) as he slouched heavily back against the wall. 

“Blaine! This is the ladies’, what are you talking about?”

Blaine stared over at her, completely bewilidered. “Kurt, why are we-” he started to ask, looking over to where Kurt had been. 

But he was gone, the door clicking quietly shut in his wake


	4. Chapter 4

“Blaine?”

Blaine paid no attention to Rachel, still staring at the closed door through which Kurt had disappeared just seconds ago. 

Just for a moment there had been a spark, a glint of life in those impassive blue eyes, only to be extinguished so definitively the second Kurt had spotted Rachel. He had been offered a fleeting glimpse into the person behind the piercings, exposed by talk of  _clothing_ of all things. Kurt was even more of an enigma than he had previously thought. 

Blaine was still clutching the soft t-shirt tightly in his hands. He didn’t really understand why he had been entrusted with it, or even why Kurt had chosen to help him. He had no idea what he was doing right, what exactly had made Kurt forget himself for a moment, he just prayed he could keep on doing…whatever it was.

“Blaine!”

He finally glanced up at Rachel, who was staring at him with a mixture of uncertainty and unbridled curiosity.

“Sorry,” he apologised. “I didn’t release this was the girls’ bathroom.”

“It’s okay,” she waved a hand in dismissal. “I know Kurt used to come in here when he got slushied a lot back in freshman year. Why did he help you?” she asked bluntly, seeming affronted that  _he_  had been the one whom Kurt had bothered to help. “He must have watched us Glee Club members get slushied thousands of time and he’s never once rushed to our aid.”

_I wish I knew._ “Beats me,” he shrugged. “You knew he was getting slushied in freshman year? Were you friends with him?”

She snorted. “No. No-one has ever been friends with him apart from Quinn. And even that is questionable. He’s always been quiet, but he dressed differently in freshman year, had none of the … accessories he has now. That all changed at the beginning of sophomore year. I don’t really know what happened, though.”

Blaine’s curiosity piqued once more. He felt even more honoured and even more confused as to why Kurt had decided to (briefly) open up to him. 

“Why did he get slushied in the first place?” he inquired, desperate for more information.

“Because he’s gay,” she said slowly. This was obviously not supposed to be news to him. “Or rather,” she corrected herself, “because the jocks are terrified of anything different from themselves and must therefore seek to destroy it.”

“He’s gay,” he repeated quietly under his breath. He had hoped, of course, but never dared to actually think about it. He could feel a smile growing on his face, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “He’s gay,” he said again a little louder, now fully beaming at Rachel. Who looked thoroughly disgusted.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she huffed. “I’ve heard things about him, rumours about his ‘personal life’,” she mimed exaggerated air quotes. “You don’t want to get involved with someone like that.”

“Someone like what, exactly?” he asked cautiously, his smile dropping slightly.

“Someone who is so … carefree with their virtue.”

Blaine blinked at her. “Where did you hear that?”

She shrugged. “Just around.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “With all due respect, Rachel, you don’t know him - I’m not saying that I do either - but you’re spreading seemingly groundless rumours. He has shown kindness to me. He leant me his t-shirt,” he waved it in her direction. “I will not treat him differently because you told me some things some people have apparently been talking about.”

She eyed the shirt warily, and then turned to him pleadingly. “I just want you to be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

It was amazing how quickly she could go from being incredibly irritating to incredibly sweet. Even if she was still a little misguided. He reached over to place a hand on her arm. “Rachel, I will be fine. I can look after myself. Okay?”

She continued to frown at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay?” he asked again.

She sighed. “Fine, but if he breaks your heart I reserve the right to say I told you so. Before I give you copious amounts of ice-cream and I treat you to the Rachel Berry medley of heartbreaking power ballads, of course.”

“Of course,” he said, ducking his head in amusement.  “But I’ve spoken to Kurt like, twice. So don’t break out the ice-cream just yet.”

 

*

 

She soon left him to it, dress billowing out behind her as she marched purposefully out of the door. She seemed to do everything  _deliberately_ , always on the move to something more important. It made Blaine feel very inadequate; left him wishing he even had something worthy of walking with purposeto do.

He locked the door behind her and finally,  _finally_  peeled the shirt off from where it was now firmly glued to his body. He was disgustingly sticky, splotches of red dye giving his skin a particularly attractive mottled effect. 

He filled the sink one more time, at long last getting rid of every remaining chunklet of slushie. A worrying amount of ice had not yet melted, despite being on his skin for nearly half an hour now. What was even  _in_  those slushies?

He dried himself off with some paper towels (the environment would have to forgive him for not using the air dryer this once) and unfolded the slightly faded black v-neck from where he had carefully laid it out on one of the dry sinks. 

He pulled it over his head, and froze as he was immediately overwhelmed with  _Kurt._  He could smell a few traces of smoke, but it was not overpowering at all. The shirt was fresh, light and airy, laced with the same lemongrass and lavender he had smelled on Kurt earlier.

_Wow, that wasn’t creepy at all._

And, on reflection, he can’t look entirely normal either. He was standing, after all, half-naked in the middle of the girls’ bathroom with a t-shirt stuck over on his head.

Forcing himself to not just breathe in the intoxicating scent of the shirt, he pushed his arms through the holes and pulled it down over his body. He was pleased that he at least filled out the shoulders, even if it dipped slightly where he knew it pulled tightly over the broad muscles of Kurt’s chest. 

He tried not to think about how the shirt must drape around Kurt’s long neck, about how it might slip slightly to expose his sculpted collar-bones, about how his arms would stretch the fabric when he reached to open his locker. About how if he were to reach up the get something from a top shelf it would ride up to reveal millimetres of smooth, flat, flawless skin.

He really did try. One might even say  _valiantly_. And unless his grandmother has been lying to him all these years, that’s all that counts in the end.

He shook himself from his daydreams and looked in the mirror glumly; he was nothing on Kurt. Sighing, he turned away from the mirror and unlocked the bathroom door. He walked reluctantly to his locker, expecting to find books and slushie and mess everywhere. The jocks had managed to catch him at exactly the wrong time (or, he supposed, the exact  _right_  time from their perspective); just as he was organising for afternoon classes - all his books out and bag wide open.

To his surprise however, his locker was shut and the hallway was completely clear; no slushie to be seen. He opened his locker, confused. His bag was tucked neatly into the side of the locker, books all stacked carefully underneath. He ran a finger down their spines. They were dry. And arranged in alphabetical order. 

Bizarre. 

He highly doubted the janitors would have done anything this quickly (if they would have done anything at all), the rest of the student body couldn’t care less and Rachel had marched off in the other direction (and probably wouldn’t have even noticed it anyway). That left Kurt. 

He had a feeling Kurt wasn’t quite done surprising him yet. 

 

*

 

If Kurt had entered the parking lot later that day at exactly the same time as Glee let out then that was just pure coincidence. Or bad luck. One of the two.

There was no way he had been sat on his staircase with one headphone off waiting for the wailing to end. He had most certainly not loped off quickly to the parking lot, had  _not_  spotted the club all chatting by the door and dug out a cigarette for want of something to keep him there.

And he had  _definitely_ not pin-pointed Blaine’s car. No, he hadn’t memorised that licence plate from the other day or trawled his memories of his days working in the garage to remember the exact make and model. (Chrysler Grand Voyager, 2009). 

_Fuck_  no.

He was just having a quick cigarette break before he went home. On this handy wall here. Yup.

_What am I doing_?

Before he could begin to ponder that great unanswerable question however, Blaine had waved goodbye to the others, wedging his hands deep in his pockets before walking towards his car. Kurt couldn’t help but flick his eyes over the boy’s frame, a jolt to his stomach confirming that Blaine was still wearing Kurt’s black t-shirt. Blaine had tucked it into his pants, and found some suspenders from God knows where to put on over the top. Kurt had to grudgingly admit he made it work.  

Blaine’s eyes were downcast, studying the asphalt in front of him carefully as he slowly crossed the parking lot. He glanced up as he neared the car, keys now in hand. He lit up as he spotted Kurt, a wide smile spreading rapidly across his face. Kurt tried to ignore the pleasant swooping in his gut as he locked gaze with the bright hazel eyes of the boy now sauntering towards him.

Blaine walked around to the front of car, pausing a few feet from Kurt. He leaned back against the hood of the car, one leg tucking up on the fender as he crossed his arms tightly across his chest, flexing his fingers around the strong muscle. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Kurt.

Kurt didn’t know what to say.  _He really should have thought this through._  

“Hi,” he said eventually.

“Hello,” Blaine replied, a teasing smile playing around his lips. “Is there any particular reason why you’re hanging out by my car, or is this another one of your ‘spots’?”.

“No reason. Just…sitting. You got a problem with that?”

“No, no,” Blaine reassured, raising a placating hand. “Just wondering.” He studied Kurt carefully, not saying anything more. Kurt grew uncomfortable under his gaze, shifting slightly as he stared down at the floor.

“What?” he demanded.

“Can I ask you a question?” Blaine enquired tentatively.

“I’m sure you’re going to anyway,” Kurt drawled, lifting his eyes to meet Blaine’s. 

Blaine rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly, looking away from Kurt. “Right, well,” he began hesitantly. “Why are you always here? Why don’t you just go home after school? You clearly don’t want to be here.”

Kurt opened his mouth to give the usual acerbic retort he had saved for anyone asking anything even vaguely personal, but something made him pause. There was a certain quality about Blaine and his stupidly hopeful expression that made it impossible to lie to him. He couldn’t quite bring himself to shut the door on the openness Blaine had offered him.

He settled for a slightly ambiguous, but truthful response. “It’s better here.”

Blaine considered this for a few moments, running his teeth over his bottom lip until he nodded infinitesimally. 

“Okay,” he accepted. “I get that.”

They stared at each other for a moment, both trying to glean exactly where the other was coming from, before quickly looking away in embarrassment. Kurt fiddled with his ear piercing awkwardly, praying for Blaine to just walk away before this got any worse.

Blaine’s eyes flicked searchingly around the parking lot before his face once again lit up. It was somewhat disconcerting how quickly his emotions seemed to transform. “So,” Blaine said brightly, seeming to have regained his former over-enthusiastic self. “What kind of music do you like? Your headphones are permanently attached to your head.”

“No-one you would have heard of,” Kurt said dismissively.

“No? Try me.” Blaine challenged, puffing up his chest. “My vast range in musical taste and knowledge may astound you.”

“I hardly think listening to both Pink  _and_ Katy Perry qualifies as a ‘vast range in musical taste’. Actually, I hate to break it to you, but their songs don’t even qualify as  _music_.” 

Blaine didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, drawing a hand to his chest in fake shock. “How did you know they were my favourites?”

The corners of Kurt’s mouth twitched up involuntarily. “Just a hunch.”

“Okay, well. Educate me about your ‘proper music’, then.” Blaine folded his arms and leant forward, a look of rapt attention on his face.

“I have Fall of Eden constantly on repeat at the moment.”

“Oh yes,” Blaine nodded sagely. “I know them well. Their second album is completely flawless. I really like the direction their music is going. Really progressive.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. “Really?”

“Nope,” Blaine said happily. “Never heard of them in my life.”

Kurt snorted. “You do surprise me.” 

Blaine looked incredibly pleased with himself. “What kind of music is that, anyway?”

“Do you actually want to know?” he asked, a little cautiously.

“I actually want to know,” Blaine reassured, grinning with his head tilted on one side. “Everyday is a school day, after all.”

“Okay, um, well, it’s metal. Progressive metal to be specific.”

“I can’t say that’s a genre I’m familiar with.”

“Shocking,” Kurt said wryly.

“It’s actually one of the only genres I’ve never delved into. Well, that and opera. I don’t think I have the voice to pull off _Nessun dorma_ , unfortunately.”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t imagine many people have the voice to pull off  _Nessun dorma_. It’s a bitch of an aria to get the right mix of technical skill and emotional depth into.”

Blaine looked at him with wonder. Shit. 

He was saved by the angry beeping of his phone from his pocket. He tugged it out, grimacing as he saw who it was.

_From: Dad (5.43 pm)  
_ _Don’t forget we’re having dinner with Carole tonight. Please be home soon._

Oh how he wished he could forget. 

He glanced up at Blaine, who was carefully scrutinising his nails, determined not to look interested.

“I have to go,” Kurt said flatly.

Blaine nodded and pushed himself forward off the car. “It’s okay, I should probably be getting going as well. And thank you again for this,” Blaine ran a hand over the shoulder of his shirt. Kurt couldn’t help but follow the path of his fingers as they traced over the material and then skirted down over a strong, tanned arm. “I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can.”

Kurt nodded slightly dumbly in acknowledgement, watching as Blaine climbed into his car and reversed slowly ( _glacially_ ) out of his space. He waved cheerily at Kurt one last time before putting the car in drive and turning out onto the road. 

Kurt stood up, brushing himself off and taking a few quick, deep drags on his cigarette. He tossed it to the floor and ground it under his boot, leaving it satisfyingly flat. 

He slung his bag over his shoulder and started the short walk home, hoping to drag the 5 minute walk out for as long as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

Fifteen minutes later Kurt stood at the end of his driveway next to the mailbox, staring up at the house in front of him. It was fairly unremarkable, one white house on a street of white houses. But for as long he could remember it had been home; all his memories revolved around these four walls. 

Two cars were pulled up outside the garage, a battered old truck and a small silver hatchback. The front yard was simple but immaculately kept, the lawn neatly cut and the hedges trimmed back. A pale flagstone path led to the front deck, empty save for a hanging chair which squeaked gently on rusty hinges as it rocked in the breeze.

All the windows already glowed brightly, even though the sun was still hovering on the horizon, not quite ready to fall completely out of sight. For years now Kurt had returned to a dark house, not even bothering to turn on lights as he trod the familiar path to his room. On occasion his father would fall asleep in the sitting room in front of the TV, the curtains drawn tightly across the windows causing shadows to flicker through the cracks.

Kurt ambled up the path, subconsciously tracing the pattern of the stones with his eyes as he went. He pushed open the heavy door and shrugged his way into the hall, allowing it to fall shut solidly behind him as he kicked off his boots. He pushed them to the side of the hallway and dumped his bag unceremoniously on top. 

There was soft music filtering through the house from the kitchen, interrupted intermittently by his dad’s barking laugh and the occasional crash of pots and pans. Kurt winced as a particularly loud clatter rang through the house. 

He padded quietly with socked feet towards the source of the noise, nudging open the door with his knee.

They were stood hip to hip at the sink, his dad elbow deep in soapy water as he sloshed it around in semblance of doing the dishes. There appeared to be more water surrounding the sink than in it: it was like a child was doing the washing-up. Carole was wielding a tea towel, still giggling as she wiped down a pan handed to her by Burt. 

Kurt cleared his throat to get their attention, ready to break up this little moment of ‘domestic bliss’. Burt glanced over his shoulder at him, throwing him a wide grin.

“Hey, bud,” he said. “Just in time. We thought we’d make dinner together and eat in instead of going out, since it’s a special occasion.”

“A special occasion,” Kurt said flatly.

“We made lemon chicken,” Carole added. “Your dad said it was your favourite.”

“Yeah. When I was 13.”

“Well, I’m sure you still must like it,” she smiled at him. “That’s not very long ago.”

Kurt looked at his father, making sure his face was completely passive. “No. No, it’s really not a very long time, is it dad?” he said, searching his father’s face for a reaction. He got nothing.

Kurt turned back to Carole. Her smile was wavering slightly as she glanced between the two men. 

“Well,” she said. “It should be ready in a couple of minutes, anyway. Would you like a drink, Kurt?”

“I can get it,” he said over his shoulder as he walked across the kitchen to the fridge, grabbing a can of diet coke. “Since, you know, it’s my kitchen.”

“Of course,” she said, looking a bit flustered as she smoothed her apron down tensely.

Kurt walked over to the sound system and flicked it off, before dragging out a chair and flopping down onto it. He sat, perfectly content to be silent, as his dad and Carole bustled around the kitchen finishing the preparations for dinner. He closed his eyes and leant back in his chair against the wall. He ignored them as they talked quietly to each other while dishing out the food, all the playfulness from earlier evaporated.

They brought the food to the table, which had been set out surprisingly tastefully with burgundy candles and a cream table cloth Kurt didn’t recognise. He started to eat, trying to look as engrossed in his food as he could. 

Unfortunately, however, Carole had decided that it was the perfect time for a game of 20 Questions.

“How’s school going, Kurt?”

“Fine.”

“Do you like it? School, I mean?”

“It’s fine.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Your dad mentioned you and Quinn spend-”

He interrupted her with a snort. “You’d probably do better asking your own son about Quinn than me.”

She frowned at him. “I know all about my son and Quinn. I asked if you have a girlfriend.”

“Are you seriously asking that?”

Carole looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh my God. I’m  _gay_.”

“Oh,” she flushed slightly. “Sorry. Do you have a boyfriend, then?”

He raised his eyebrows derisively at her. “Not one that would fall into your definition of boyfriend, I imagine,” he said blithely.

His dad looked up sharply at that, scrutinising him. “What does that mean?” he demanded.

“Nothing, dad,” he waved it off. “Don’t worry your little head about it.”

“Don’t patronise me, Kurt, I know exactly what you meant.” Burt glanced sideways at Carole. “We will talk about this later.”

“I can hardly wait,” Kurt replied sarcastically to his plate.

Burt narrowed his eyes at him but didn’t make any further comment.

“So,” Carole tried again, desperately trying to make conversation. “Do you have any idea what you want to do after you graduate high school?”

“To get out of Ohio as quickly as possible.” He kept his eyes on his plate.

“Do you have any extracurriculars?”

“No.”

“My Finn does Glee Club and football. He loves them both so much. Do you like sports?”

“No.”

“Well, how about music then?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t believe anyone can dislike music.”

“That’s a shame for you.”

“Kurt!” his father interrupted gruffly. “Cut it out. Enough with the snark.”

Kurt turned his cool gaze on his father, blinking insolently at him. Burt stared straight back, pale eyes gleaming out from under the shade of the cap he still insisted on wearing. 

Kurt broke first and dropped his eyes to glare back down at his food, pushing it around his plate as he tried to ignore the fast thumping of his heart in his chest. 

“Carole, you were saying?” Burt prompted calmly.

“Well,” she nervously babbled, “The club is always looking for new members. Maybe you and Finn could get to know each other a bit better if you both go to the same extracurricular?”

“Finn and I know each other enough, thanks. And no, not going to happen.”

“You used to love that stuff, kid,” Burt leant back in his chair, casually slinging an arm over the back of Carole’s chair. “You used to sing along for hours to bootlegged copies of whatever musical you could get your hands on.”

“Key words in that being ‘used to’,” he replied shortly. 

“You still have all those CDs up in your room,” Burt pointed out. “Maybe it’s something you might want to get back into.”

“You know why I have those CDs,  _dad_. And it’s not for my apparent love of musical theatre. Stop pushing this.”

His father looked wearily away from Kurt, reaching up with a tired hand to pull off his cap, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over his face and back over his head. “Just an idea. You don’t seem very much yourself lately, it could help.”

Kurt snorted derisively. “So I’m not the obnoxious child singing ridiculous songs and wearing ridiculous clothes anymore. So fucking what?”

“So you’re not happy anymore, Kurt. That’s what.”

The beating in Kurt’s chest sped up once more. “Are you serious? I’m  _not happy anymore?_ I can’t believe-. Jesus Christ, dad. No. No no no.”

Kurt pushed his chair back from the table shaking his head in disbelief, knife and fork clattering down onto the plate as he stood. There was no way he was staying here to talk about this, let alone in front of a complete stranger.

“And what were you planning for tonight,  _dad_?” he continued in a lower, more dangerous tone, a spiteful smirk finding its way onto his face. “You thought we could play happy families? Pretend like we do this every night – that we have meals together all the time like a proper family? We chat about our days, we discuss our  _interests_ and  _heart’s desires_  and have a laugh over the washing-up,” he rolled his eyes in contempt. “You bring me out to put on some kind of show for her? Well, here’s your show. I genuinely don’t give a _shit_  what you do with her; just don’t bring me into it anymore.” 

He whirled around, just catching the defeated expression on his father’s face and the shocked look on Carole’s before he strode out of the room. He grabbed his bag from the hall and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Reaching the relative sanctuary of his room, he closed the door firmly behind him, leaning back against it as he dug around frantically in his bag. 

His fingers searched out the soft material, latching on tightly as soon as they felt the corners of the silk scarf. He forced himself to loosen his grip and not crumple it, instead running the material gently through his hands. The soothing whispers of fabric comforted him in a way that no one or nothing could ever do. He buried his face in the familiar fabric and breathed deeply, the scent of the perfume he regularly sprayed it with calming his ragged gasps gradually into sure deep breaths. Kurt lowered the cloth from his face, still bone-dry, and tucked it safely back in the pocket of his bag. 

Despite the early hour, he undressed quickly and pulled on his softest sweats before switching off the lights and burrowing under the warm covers of his bed.

By the time there was a gentle knock on the door a couple of hours later, he had fallen into a fitful sleep. He wasn’t aware of Burt cracking open the door, or a wide triangle of yellow light streaming into the dark room, illuminating his shock of multi-coloured hair from where it peeked out from under the covers. 

Burt stood for a moment in the doorway, watching his son sleep. Kurt was knotted hopelessly in the sheets, twitching and shifting incessantly, not even peaceful in sleep.

“G’night, kiddo,” Burt sighed. “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep well.”

Kurt snuffled into the covers as Burt quietly pulled the door to behind him, trying to bury himself impossibly deeper into his bed as desperately sought out a source of warmth, even in dreams.

 

*

 

Kurt slipped out of the house as early as he could the next morning, his father’s snores  still rattling through the house as he silently tiptoed down the stairs and out of the front door. 

He breathed in the crisp fall air, filling his lungs as he set off down the street. He made a quick pit-stop in the coffee place around the corner from the school, before meandering slowly through the empty streets, contentedly slurping on his coffee as he relished the quiet. Once he arrived a good few minutes later, he settled on the floor against the wall, stretching out his limbs in the cool early morning sun. He leant his head back against the concrete, closing his eyes against the bright light as he continued to sip on his coffee.

“You should be an edgy writer or like, a painter in a really pretentious artsy film,” a voice came from right above him.

Kurt’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted up through the blinding sunlight to look at…Blaine. _Of course._  “What?”

“Coffee and cigarettes. And Doc Martens. Isn’t that like, a  _thing_? A hipster thing? I’m sorry, I’m not terribly  _au fait_ with hipster happenings. But there’s definitely a film in there somewhere.”

“Again. I repeat. What?”

“I would totally watch that movie,” Blaine mused, not paying Kurt any attention. “It could be a new coming-of-age cult classic that no one really understands, but everyone ‘ _totally gets it, man’._ It would be about absolutely nothing but people would claim it changed their lives.”

“I literally have no idea what the fuck you’re on about.”

“I’m okay with that,” Blaine grinned. “Good morning, Kurt.”

“Hi.”

“Not very long time, no see” 

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. “That doesn’t even make sense.” Blaine just continued to grin at him. “Did you take extra-happy pills this morning or something?”

Blaine shrugged. “I guess I’m just a morning person.”

Kurt snorted. “That figures. ‘To me, a ‘morning person’ may just as well be described as a ‘crazy person’.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How the hell are you going to take that as a compliment?”

“You can make anything a compliment if you want to,” Blaine said boldly.

“Deep,” Kurt scoffed.

“I know,” Blaine nodded seriously, lips pressed tightly together. “But just to prove my point that that was a compliment - you say crazy people are morning people, and yet here you are, at what?” he glanced at his watch. “Half past seven. A full hour before you need to be here. So you are officially a ‘morning person’ whether you like it or not. You are thus placing me in a group which contains you. That can only be taken as a compliment.”

Kurt blinked in confusion up at Blaine, who was smiling impossibly sweetly at him. “Yes,” he said, trying to clear his head. “But can you not tell from the bucket of coffee that I am currently consuming that this is not my preferred state of being?”

“I don’t know, you looked quite content basking in the sun like a cat when I arrived.”

“Like a cat,” Kurt repeated. “Sure.”

Blaine beamed at him and glanced around the parking lot. “Do you mind if I sit down? It’s weird talking down at you.”

“Not my wall,” he said dismissively. Blaine still hesitated, shuffling his weight from one leg to the other. “That means  _yes,_ Blaine.”

Blaine let out a soft “Oh” and sunk to the ground next to Kurt, pinching his trousers (mustard today) up his thighs before folding his legs neatly beneath him.

“So what brings you to school so early on this fine morning?” Blaine asked grandly.

“What brings  _you_  to school so early on this astoundingly average morning?” Kurt countered.

Blaine blinked at the quick retaliation. “Um, I had homework I wanted to get done in the library before classes.”

“Isn’t someone keen.”

Blaine shrugged. “I’m used to working hard, I suppose. I guess that’s what private school does to you.”

Kurt whistled. “Oooh, fancy. Private school. So many things suddenly make sense.”

Blaine eyed him warily. “Like what?”

Kurt looked at him incredulously before pointedly running his gaze down Blaine. Blaine glanced down at himself. He was wearing leather boat shoes, mustard pants and black ralph lauren polo with aviators slotted in down the front. A fine knit cardigan was slung through the shoulder strap of his messenger bag, which was spilling large and most definitely extra-curricular looking textbooks onto the asphalt. He had a neat side part, his hair over-zealously gelled down into submission and a smooth freshly shaven face.

“Private school has nothing to do with it,” Blaine sniffed. “I just like to look nicely turned out.”

“If you say so,” Kurt smirked.

“I do,” Blaine said with a decisive nod. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why are _you_ here so early?”

“Well,” Kurt’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “I had homework I wanted to get done before classes.”

Blaine huffed out a laugh. “Of course you did. It’s clearly going well. I can see you’re knuckling down with that really hard right now.”

“I’m just taking a quick break,” the corners of Kurt’s eyes crinkled in mirth. “You caught me at a bad time.”

“Is that right?” Blaine shook his head in amusement.

“Yeah, well firstly I tried to take my cigarette break in the library, but it turns out they aren’t huge fans of fire when surrounded by large quantities of combustible material. Who knew? Actually, I don’t think they’re fans of smoking at all. Or me,” he shook his head with an exaggerated sadness. “They’re a very judgemental bunch, librarians.”

“Judgmental or…concerned for your health and the safety of others in the school?” Blaine said tentatively. “One of the two, for sure. Anyway. You are an excellent question avoider. That’s twice you’ve avoided answering the same question.”

Kurt just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Urgh,” Blaine sighed. “Fine. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, even if you have become Mr Enigmatic and Mysterious,” he got to his feet and gathered up his bag. “I’m going to go face those judgemental librarians now. Wish me luck!” 

Kurt watched from his spot on the floor as Blaine gave him a jaunty salute and sauntered off across the parking lot towards the entrance to the school, leaving him feeling ten times lighter than when he had left the house that morning.


	6. Chapter 6

That afternoon, Blaine sat on the top riser in the choir room, ankles crossed primly beneath him. By his side, Tina and Mike were in an apparent effort to occupy only one chair between the two of them, limbs tangled hopelessly as they tried to consume one another’s faces. It grossed Blaine out a little: he was all for affection and love, but there was a _line_  (and, he thought, they were so far over the line it was but a pin-prick in the distance to them).

Sectionals were a mere  _two weeks away,_ and no one had even mentioned them yet.Blaine was beginning to consider warning Mr Shue about it. He wasn’t sure if their teacher had even remembered it was  _happening_ , let alone whether he had started to put together some kind of setlist. Blaine had some ideas he wanted to put forward to the group, but he wasn’t sure if his input would be hugely appreciated. Especially after the weird vendetta Finn had seemed to have developed against him. Blaine had made it clear many times that he was, in fact, just there to have fun and sing and perform and make new friends. He didn’t care for solos or ball hogging. He had thought he was done with ludicrous Intra-Club Politics when he had left the Warblers, but unfortunately he had been sorely mistaken.  

After his initial welcome into the group he had struggled to fit in properly. On their own, he got along well with most of them. Tina was lovely. They shared many of the same classes, both being juniors, and regularly studied together. Rachel had her moments – they both had an intense passion for musical theatre and performing (although Blaine thought he was maybe a bit more rational about it). And Mike was great, he could muck around with him like he could with some of the Warblers. It didn’t hurt that Mike quite often pulled off his shirt after dance practice to cool off. And then stretched. Shirtless. (And really, Blaine thought, Mike was happily putting it out there – it would be rude  _not_  to look.)

No, the problems came when they were all together. They all had their strict roles within the club. Even if they complained about not getting solos (which they did – daily), at the end of the day they were a unit, and Blaine still felt like an outsider. He didn’t know where his place was. 

“Blaine!”

“Huh, what?” Blaine blinked, brought out of his daze.

“Dude, pay attention,” Finn reprimanded. “If we don’t do well this year it will because people like you aren’t listening, because you aren’t being part of the team. This isn’t Dalton, you know. You can’t just turn up when you want and expect us to side step behind you while you sing some girly pop song.”

A wave of frustration rolled over Blaine. He squirmed slightly in his seat, hands subconsciously clenching into fists in his lap. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Forced himself to rise above it. His fingers flexed tensely along the top of his thighs, twitching and fidgeting, itching to do  _something_. 

He held Finn’s gaze, and then pointedly swept his eyes around the room. He was not the only one not giving their full attention by any stretch of the imagination.

Mike and Tina were still thoroughly absorbed in each other’s tonsils, Brittany was colouring in a textbook, Santana watching her closely with her head resting on her shoulder, Artie was having some kind of rap off with Sam, Mercedes was flicking through a magazine and Puck was… actually where was Puck? He was nowhere to be seen. Probably off with some ‘hot-ass chick’. 

He looked back at Finn and raised an eyebrow. If he could somehow convey just a smidge of the derision Kurt managed to lock into his facial expressions Finn would surely be quaking in his converse and let this one go.

Unfortunately, Blaine’s attempt didn’t seem to have quite the same devastating effect.

“Well, whatever. I’m the leader of this club and you are new here,” Finn said. “You need to catch up. So yeah, pay attention.”

No-one else spoke. Blaine withdrew back in his chair, pulling away as much as he could.

“All right, everyone,” Mr Shue called out, clapping his hands to break the silence. “I think that’s it for today. See you guys tomorrow.”

Blaine grabbed his bag and waved vaguely over his shoulder as he rushed out of the room. Why did no-one call Finn out? He thought that New Directions was supposed to be a family. That was what they preached anyway - even if there was no actual evidence of the fact.  _Why couldn’t he be accepted just for_  once _?_

He practically flew to the parking lot, a bubble of suppressed emotion threatening to burst at any moment. 

He spotted the familiar lithe form of Kurt leaning casually against his car. His body flooded with warmth and his stomach swooped pleasantly. 

“Hello again,” he said, once he was within hearing distance. 

“Hey,” Kurt smiled a little unsurely at him. 

Blaine beamed back, all Glee problems slipping easily to the back of his mind. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like, you’re always lurking around. You’re a professional lurker, Kurt.”

“It’s not my fault if you keep turning up just where I happen to be,” Kurt grumbled. But Blaine could tell (his heart skipped a beat when he realised he was beginning to read Kurt a little better) that Kurt was teasing him. Blaine could see a slight twinkle in Kurt’s eye that was enchanting. He wanted to make that happen more often.

“Kurt.”

“Hm?”

“You’re leaning on my car. It’s not some great coincidence if I turn up.”

“This is your car?” Kurt said, pushing himself forward off the door and looking back at it as he feigned shock. “Well, what a stroke of luck. I had no idea.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Blaine shook his head in amusement, eyes crinkling in amusement. “I guess you’re not here for any particular reason, but just  _because_  again, right?”

“Right.”

“You should join an after-school club or something to waste your time better than just hovering around school. Hey, you like music, right? You should join Glee.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows at him. “I’m sorry I think you must’ve mistaken me for someone else. When exactly did you get the impression that I would enjoy bouncing around on stage like a bunny on steroids?” 

“So…no?”

“ _Fuck_ no, Blaine,” he said emphatically.

“Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in defeat. “Point made. I just thought it would be fun,” he pouted a little, turning his best puppy-dog eyes at Kurt.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to work.”

“Shame,” Blaine grinned again. “I like your jacket by the way. I don’t think I mentioned it this morning.”

“Complimenting me isn’t going to make me join either.”

“No, I know that. I was genuinely admiring your jacket.”

“Oh,” Kurt said quietly, running his fingers over the soft leather of his sleeves. “Thank you.”

“I’ve always loved leather jackets. I don’t think I could pull one off though.”

“Of course you could; anyone can,” Kurt said, still absentmindedly trailing a hand across his jacket. “You do have to find the right one for you, though. It might take a long time for you to find it, but once you do, it’s  _so_  worth it and will stay with you for life.”

Blaine looked fascinated. “Where did you get yours?”

“I inherited it,” Kurt said shortly. 

“Cool,” Blaine smiled encouragingly at him. “I love all that stuff. I have loads of old cameras that I’ve inherited and collected for ages. I don’t know why, but I find it really comforting that there is a history of people cherishing and loving these objects and I have been trusted to carry that on. It’s like-, I don’t know, this is going to sound ridiculous, but it’s like  _I_  don’t own _them_ but almost that they have simply chosen me to take care of them for a while.” He paused. “That’s really weird, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Definitely weird.” Kurt smirked at him. Blaine ducked his head in embarrassment, a flush spreading up his neck.  _Oversharing once again, Blaine. Well done you._  “But I think that too,” Kurt added, his smirk softening into a shy smile. Blaine lifted his eyes to meet Kurt’s. The twinkle was still there. And, Blaine considered, it probably always  _was_ there. It was just that Kurt managed to hide it so well under his perfectly constructed glaze of indifference that sometimes it was hard to see.

As it was now, in fact. Kurt’s expression had clouded over, his eyes refocusing sharply on a spot behind Blaine. He twisted around quickly in alarm. The rest of Glee Club was now coming out of the school. 

Blaine saw Finn catch sight of them from across the parking lot and start to stalk towards them. What now? What could he have  _possibly_  done to upset him in the five minutes he had been out here?

“Dude!” Finn shouted.

“Oh fuck,” Kurt bit out.

“What?” Blaine asked.

“ _Fuck._  She is such a fucking little  _snitch,_ oh my  _God._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Blaine asked desperately. 

“Oh, um, nothing.  _Fuck._ I’ll see you tomorrow? You can go home. This is for me.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked sceptically. “He’s not a huge fan of mine.”

Kurt eyes never left the hulking figure lumbering across the lot towards them. “Trust me,” he said flatly. “This is about me.”

Blaine still hesitated. Finn looked absolutely livid. He couldn’t just leave Kurt here with him. But before he could make a decision Finn was right there. 

Finn grabbed the front of Kurt’s shirt and flung him up against Blaine’s car. Well, that took the option of driving away out of the equation at least.

One more millisecond of hesitation. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him to run, pricking with the all-too familiar memories. Except usually _he_  was the one being pressed back, the one with the air being knocked out of him completely.  

But this time it wasn’t him. It was Kurt. 

Kurt.

Blaine surged forward into action and pushed back at Finn’s chest, managing to wedge himself between the pair of them.  _Finally the boxing pays off,_ he thought grimly as he forcefully shoved Finn back away from the car. He could feel Kurt’s chest heaving behind him and quickly stepped forward. 

Finn made to go at Kurt again but Blaine got in the way, forcing him back once more. 

“Finn, what the  _fuck?_ ” Kurt spat out from behind him.

“You know exactly what! My mom was just trying to be nice and you were like some spoiled little princess. You don’t get to be a bitch to her.  _You don’t get to treat her like that_!” 

Finn lunged again, but Blaine was still there. He could almost feel the waves of animosity rolling off Kurt from behind him and braced himself. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You have to apologise to her,” Finn demanded. Blaine kept a warning hand up, keeping the distance between the two. They both ignored him, glaring at each other over his head.

“I’m  _sorry_  your mommy came crying to you about me. But that’s all I will apologise for. If she can’t handle a seventeen year old then that’s not my problem.”

“How  _dare_ you?” Finn snarled.

“Quite easily actually.”

Finn took a step towards Kurt, leaning in. “You want me to tell Burt exactly where you are Quinn go all the time? She told me, you know. She told me what you do. She told me all about your adventures in New York last summer. The weed and the sex and how  _easy_  you are. Does he even know you went to New York? I doubt it. Me and Burt are quite close, you know. We’ve been to a couple of games together. He would listen to me. He always listens to me.” 

Blaine felt Kurt freeze behind him.

“You won’t tell him,” Kurt said with a voice that could cut glass. “Because if you do, I might  _accidentally_ let slip to your mom  _and_ my dad exactly what you and your Neanderthal football buddies did to me in freshman year.”

Finn’s eyes widened slightly in shock but then tried to fake nonchalance. “She already knows.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “I sincerely doubt she knows all of it.”

They stared at each other out with narrowed eyes. Blaine stepped back when they didn’t move or speak again, flicking his gaze from Finn to Kurt and back again, trying to gauge the situation.

Eventually Finn nodded, tearing his eyes from where they had been locked with Kurt’s. He cast Blaine a parting look of derision before he slunk off back across the lot.

Blaine watched Finn walk away and get into his car, pulling away from the school with a roar of the engine. He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He glanced around at Kurt. He was brushing off his clothes carefully, obscuring his face from Blaine. 

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked carefully, peering around to try to see Kurt’s face.

“I’m fine,” came a muffled voice. “I could have handled that. I didn’t need you to ‘save me’ or whatever.”

“I know,” Blaine said gently. “I just hoped I could help in some way. I have no idea what just happened, but it sounded horrible.”

“Yeah, well,” Kurt laughed bitterly. “If you’re going to be hanging around with me you have to get used to that kind of stuff. If you can’t handle it, then you can just fuck off to wherever it was you came from.”

Blaine didn’t even flinch. “Do you want a lift home? You don’t have a car, right?”

Kurt blinked at him. “Um. It’s just around the corner. I can just walk.”

“If it’s just around the corner it’s no problem to drop you off.” Blaine smiled as he put a hand on Kurt’s back, pushing him back towards the car. “Come on.”

 

*

 

When Kurt opened the front door, Burt was already stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. Kurt paused in the threshold, weighing up his options. Unfortunately, they were not numerous.  _Great,_  apparently this day was not already done with shitting on him. His shoulders slumped in resignation as he shuffled into the hall, slowly closing the door behind him.

“Good day at school?”

Kurt grunted a semblance of a reply.

“Who was that who dropped you off?”

“A person.”

“Well gee, I’m overwhelmed,” he deadpanned. “I don’t know what to do with all this information you’re giving me.”

Kurt grimaced at him. “You’re really hilarious. That, for your information, was Blaine. He’s new this year.”

Burt nodded. “Alright. I’m glad you’re making new friends.” Kurt made a face at him. “So, about yesterday,” he uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall. “I said we would talk about it and whatdoyaknow?” He spread his arms. “Here I am. Ready to talk about it. I figured sooner rather than later is better.”

“Tomorrow,” Kurt said evasively with a flick of his hand. “I’ve got stuff to do.” He got one foot on the stairs before Burt stepped forward and grasped his shoulder.

“Like hell you have. We’re doing this right now,” Burt said firmly, steering him out of the hall and through to the kitchen. Kurt shrugged him off as soon as he loosened his grip slightly and darted out of the back door onto the deck. There was no way he could do this without a smoke. 

He flicked at his lighter, protecting the cigarette from the wind with a cupped hand as he deftly lit it up. He inhaled deeply and sank down to sit on the steps, arms winding around his tucked up legs. 

“Not under my roof, Kurt,” his father’s voice came from behind him. “You know the rules.”

Kurt exhaled heavily and pushed himself to his feet before sauntering away from the steps and out of the cover of the roof jutting out over the deck. He turned back to face Burt, raising a challenging eyebrow as he took a slow drag on his cigarette.

“Kurt,” Burt sighed wearily. “You know what I mean. Put it out.”

Kurt took a couple more long puffs and then casually flicked the unfinished cigarette to the ground. They both watched as it glowed brightly against the stone path and began to flicker in the cool evening air. Burt walked down the steps and ground it out under his boot. 

“So,” Burt began without any more delay, looking across to Kurt. “What was that yesterday?”

“I’ve said everything I want to say about it.”

“You may have said everything you  _want_ to say about it, but that doesn’t mean you’ve said everything you  _will_  say about it,” Burt said adamantly.  

Kurt groaned.  _Why didn’t he get the fucking clue?_  “But there is literally  _nothing else_ to say _._  I don’t even care anymore. Do what you want.”

Burt sighed, casting his eyes around the yard. He quickly moved on to a different tack. “I wasn’t trying to play games, or ‘pretending to be happy families’ as you put it. I really just wanted us to all sit down and talk. Carole wants to get to know you. She didn’t deserve the way you treated her.”

“I didn’t treat her in any way,” Kurt said dismissively, as he settled back into his previous position curled up on the steps. 

“Yes you did. You were childish and rude when she was asking you decent questions.”

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, tightening his arms around his knees. “Whatever.”

“Kurt. Grow up. You’re nearly eighteen for Christ’s sake.  _Talk_ to me.”

“Why are you so keen on talking all of a sudden?” Kurt asked mildly, picking at the rubber on his boots. “We’ve barely spoken a word to each other for four years and we got on just fine.”

Burt rubbed at the back of his neck, searching for the words. “Son, being with Carole has made me realise that actually  _no_ , we don’t get on just fine. We need to start properly talking to each other,” He took a step towards him and then paused, as if unsure of how much to push Kurt. “She knows exactly what’s going on in Finn’s life. I have no idea what you get up to. Like that thing you said yesterday about boyfriends? We should talk about that stuff.”

“Nah, I’m good actually,” Kurt yawned, stretching out his arms above his head and got to his feet. “Thanks for the offer though,” he added sarcastically.

“Nope. No running away,” Burt said firmly. “That was not an offer. That was a statement. We are  _going_  to talk about it.”

“Must we?” Kurt asked disinterestedly.

“Yes, Kurt, we must. I get that it’s my fault that we’ve never had this conversation, but damn it, we are having it now,” Burt ran a frustrated hand over his forehead before clearing his throat and biting the bullet. “Have you been fooling around with guys?”

Kurt refused to meet his eyes, staring out over the backyard instead as the heat rose in his face.

He shrugged. “Sure.” 

“When? Where?”

“Sometimes me and Quinn go to Columbus,” he said impassively. “Sometimes I go to Scandals. I meet people there.”

“You go to  _Columbus?_  You travel 100 miles to-. Christ, Kurt, that’s a 4 hour round trip,” his father looked staggered. “You have never once told me you’re going to Columbus. What if something had happened, huh? You don’t know anyone in Columbus.”

“There’s this modern invention called the  _cell phone_ , dad.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Do you know how dangerous what you’re doing is? You are a  _kid._  I know you like to think you’re all grown-up and everything, but you are  _seventeen_ , you can’t just go to these places. Some of the people there are  _bad people_.”

“I know what I’m doing. It’s fine.”

“No, no it’s really not,” Burt said in disbelief. “So, what do you do? You and Quinn drive to Columbus, or Scandals or wherever, and you use fake IDs to get into bars?” he accused. Kurt remained silent. “You both drink? And then one of you drives home? Come on, you’re smarter than that. You’ve seen the wrecks we get at the garage from drunk drivers. Don’t be an idiot.”

“We don’t usually drive back the same night,” Kurt mumbled.

A look of horror flashed across Burt’s face. “God, Kurt. Tell me you sleep in the car and don’t go to strangers’ houses.”

Shame was steadily burning a hole in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. “Of course I don’t go to strangers’ houses. I’m not a fucking imbecile.”

Burt took a deep steadying breath. “Okay. That’s something, I guess.” He rubbed at his head again. “Okay. So who are these guys? You find them in bars and just what, throw yourself at them?”

“They’re usually throwing themselves at me,” Kurt said, smug bravado hiding the stab of hurt at the presumption.

Burt closed his eyes slowly; head hanging so his chin almost rested on his chest. “I thought we had taught you better than this,” he said almost inaudibly.

“Better than what? I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m fine. I use protection,” Kurt enunciated the word clearly. Burt winced. “It’s just a bit of fun. Which is quite hard to find in this fucking hellhole. So you can leave it now. You’ve done your fatherly duty. Feel free to scuttle off back to the garage or-,” he waved a hand in the air. “-Whatever it was you were doing before you felt the need to make a token attempt at parenting me.” 

Burt just stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Almost as if Kurt was a complete stranger to him. 

But then, the man stood in front of Kurt was not someone he recognised. He looked old. Older than Kurt had ever seen him. There was scruff around his jaw line, which he could see was now tinged with grey. He looked tired and pallid, the skin heavy around his eyes as it succumbed to the years of hardship. His shoulders were hunched as if braced against the world, his hands wedged deeply into his pockets. He looked so down-trodden. 

A far cry from the bright and energetic man Kurt remembered from not so many years ago. 

“No more trips to Columbus, no more Scandals,” his father said in a low voice. “You can consider yourself grounded.”

Kurt blinked at him in disbelief. “For what?” he asked coolly.

“Let’s just say it’s for a backlog of many things I’ve let slide over the years. Going to Columbus without my permission for one. Continuing to smoke around the house when I have clearly forbidden it for another. We will be having dinner together every night - not just on Fridays. You will come home straight after school,” his voice grew more certain as he added to his list. Kurt’s stomach was clenching uncomfortably, his breathing getting more and more ragged. “You will quit smoking. You will watch your tongue. You will be civil to Carole. That’s really not asking much, Kurt. You will do your homework properly. You’re a smart kid, you could get great grades – hell, you could  _be_ great. Stop being so passive in your own life and  _do_ something.”

Kurt’s stomach was now churning. He felt physically sick. “I won’t be able to do anything if you ground me will I?” he muttered, his throat dry.

“There’s plenty you can do,” Burt said, unfazed. “I suggest starting to go through all the piles of stuff you have in the basement. You never know what you might find. Maybe you’ll even rediscover an old love,” he added idly.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. Burt stared innocently back. He knew  _exactly_  what Kurt had stashed away down there. Kurt stood abruptly. “Well, this has been just such a super father-son bonding moment, but un _fortunately_  I have to go now.” He began to walk across the deck to the house.

“Oh and Kurt,” Burt called out after him.

“What?” he asked as he had a hand on the door, desperate to push it open.

“I’m going to put you on the roster at the garage. You can do a couple of hours after school during the week and then one day at the weekend.. No ifs, no buts, no questions. It’s happening.” 

Kurt slammed through the door without another word.


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt sat on the top step of the bleachers, staring out blankly at the empty pitch. The rough grass glistened with moisture in the dim floodlights, the recent rain still clinging to each blade. Kurt was hunched over around a cigarette, huddling against the back railings with his knees brought up to his chest, trying to hold in as much warmth as he could. He rested his chin on his knee and wrapped his arms around his ankles, trying to draw his jacket around his legs as much as possible.

The night was drawing in and the cold clawed relentlessly at Kurt’s thin jacket. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer; he needed somewhere new, somewhere warm to go to get away. 

Kurt reached for his phone, shifting his weight slightly to one side to glance at the time before slipping it back into his jeans.  _6.31pm._  His father was expecting him at the garage hours ago for his first shift. Kurt had no intention of going anywhere. 

There were no new messages, no calls; nothing. His cell phone stayed stubbornly quiet and dark in his pocket. Going by his father’s behaviour over the past few days he had expected a million angry texts and missed calls by now. 

His father no longer left for work early, instead choosing to lay out breakfast for the both of them each morning. When Kurt would shuffle blearily downstairs in the morning, sleep clouding his vision, there would be a pot of coffee on the side and a neat row of cereals lying out on the table. His dad would call out a cheery greeting from behind a paper, or over his shoulder from where he was leaning against the counter going over the accounts. A full jug of milk, a stack of still-warm toast, a well-supplied bowl of fruit.

Kurt usually silently grabbed a mug of coffee and took it straight back upstairs with him, ignoring his father’s attempts at conversation completely. But so far his father had remained undeterred, each morning it was spread out exactly the same. 

It was like his father had been asleep for the past few years and had now woken up. Kurt was hoping ( _praying)_  it was just a phase. And judging by the lack of complaints about Kurt missing his shift, maybe, just maybe he had already fallen back into listless unconsciousness.

Kurt’s head whipped up when he heard the ringing of footsteps on the metal below. He blinked rapidly to clear the sheen that had glazed over his eyes as he had stared aimlessly out at the night. A familiar head of pink hair was bowed against the wind, bobbing up the steps towards him.

Quinn settled down next to him on the cold bench, drawing her scarf tightly around her. 

“Hey,”  he grunted in greeting around the cigarette wedged between his lips. He pinched it between his fingers and exhaled into the wind, the smoke making his eyes water as it blew back in his face.

“Where have you been lately?” he asked hoarsely, still blinking rapidly as his eyes burned. “I haven’t seen you around as much.”

“I’ve been here. It’s you who hasn’t.”

“Quinn. You’re always here. Well,” he amended. “Either here or off with those wannabe ‘skanks’ or whatever you like to call yourselves. Where the hell else could you have been?”

She remained silent, staring off into the drizzle. He groaned in realisation. “Don’t tell me you’re off talking to Puckerman again.”

“I…maybe,” she admitted quietly.

“Oh, come  _on_  Quinn,” he bit out. “The guy’s an asshole. Just move  _on_  already.”

“Fuck off, Kurt,” she shot back, immediately on the defensive. “You’re just jealous.”

Kurt scoffed. “What could I possibly be jealous of? A guy gets you pregnant, lets you believe someone else was the father-,” he counted out the list on his fingers. “-Ignores you for like, a year, and then randomly starts stalking you and harassing you to get to talk to him,” he waved the hand in her face. “Oh yeah Quinn, I’m really fucking jealous. I want to get me some of _that._ ”

“It’s not like that,” she insisted.

“Okay then, Quinn,” he said, sneering at her. “Tell me what it’s like.”

“He’s changed. I really believe he’s changed. He’s not harassing me, he’s being friendly. You just don’t recognise what friendly  _is_.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes in derision. “…If that was supposed to be an insult, it was fucking terrible.”

“What is up with you today? You’re being all kinds of extra bitchy.”

He growled in frustration. “If you call me a bitch one more time, Quinn…I swear.”

“You swear what?!” She threw up both her hands, turning to him. “You couldn’t,  _wouldn’t,_ dare do anything to me!”

She was looking at him challengingly through narrowed eyes. He took a deep, calming breath. “I could-, oh, I don’t know-” he said breezily, waving his cigarette lazily in the air. “I could tell everyone the reason you went to New York last summer.”

She froze, the sneer dropping from her face. “I know you wouldn’t do that,” she said quietly.

“Do you? I thought I knew you wouldn’t be chatting to other people about me, but hey, I guess people can always surprise you,” he said coolly.

“What do you mean?” she asked uneasily.

“I mean that I had a lovely ‘talk’with Finn the other day.” She glanced at him with her wide pale eyes. “Oh yeah,” he nodded. “He said he knew  _all about_  last summer. And you know what, you can say what you want about me to other people, but not Finn.”

“Why not Finn?” she asked curiously.

“Because the universe is having some great fucking joke where my dad and his mom are apparently a ‘thing’. And despite the fact that he struggles to string words together to form coherent sentences, he seems to have managed to manipulate my dad into listening to him. So I’d appreciate it if he didn’t know what may or may not have happened in New York. I’d rather he didn’t know  _anything_  about New York, in fact.”

She didn’t respond, deep in thought as she studied the floor below her feet carefully, leaning forward on straight arms with her fingers curled around the edge of the cool metal bench. 

“So apparently,” he went on. “You’ve been quite the chatterbox recently - Finn, then Puck -  _all_ your old crew. Why don’t you just be done with it and go back to Glee Club where you clearly belong?”

Her expression softened into something that looked almost like…pity. His gut twisted uncomfortably. “Kurt, they’ve all really changed. I know they all want to talk to you about what happened.”

“You do, huh?” Kurt snorted. “They tell you that they wanna be best buddies, did they?”

“Well, not in so many words-”

“Don’t be so fucking naive, Quinn,” he said sharply. “They haven’t changed. They never will. They only want to talk to  _you_  because they need you to make up numbers in their shitty glee club. So just go back to them where you so clearly want to be and leave me alone.”

She didn’t move a muscle, her face still soft and irritating understanding. “Kurt, I still want to be your friend. We’ve stuck together this last year. Maybe if you just talked to me about-”

He held up a hand to stop her, anger bubbling through his veins. “Don’t you dare preach to me about talking about your feelings. Don’t go all righteous on me.”

She leaned in to him. “I’m just saying,” she said gently, resting a hand on his arm. “That talking to Noah has really helped me get some closure on a lot of things.”

He shrugged off her hand, glaring out into the now pitch dark. He couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed. He knew he was probably supposed to be pleased for her. He was supposed to feel happy that she had sorted her shit out, or ‘got some closure’ or whatever. But she had done it without him. It wasn’t fair that she could just turn up one day and tell him she was fixed and put back together when he had never felt more broken apart.

He jutted out his chin. “So now you’re magically healed you don’t have to stick with me. Off you pop,” he dismissed her with a flick of his hands. 

“Kurt,” she pleaded, even quieter than before. “Please just tell me what they did to you and then maybe-”

“No,” he forced out. “It won’t achieve anything. Let it go.”

She continued to consider him, her green eyes searching his face. “Fine,” she sighed. “Consider it let go. I just want to help.”

“Well,” Kurt said flatly. “Don’t.”

They lapsed into a familiar silence. Quinn settled back next to him on the railings “You mind if I sit here for a while?” she asked a little warily.

“Fine. Just, enough with the talking.”

She nodded and curled up on herself next to him.

 

*

 

Blaine went a couple of days without seeing Kurt at all. He had already noticed that Kurt seemed to have some sort of ninja skills for slipping through the halls completely unseen, but he had started getting used to their little conversations by his car. Had started hoping that maybe this could be their ‘thing’. That this could maybe spread into more ‘things’ for them.

And then suddenly he wasn’t there anymore.

And they weren’t even friends, not really. They had no classes together, he had never seen him at lunch and wasn’t in any clubs or extracurriculars. There was nothing he could do to find him. He didn’t even have his number.  

All he could do was wait for Kurt come to him.

Blaine tried to push him to the back of his mind, tried not to scan the hallways with a sweeping eye hoping for a glimpse of multi-coloured hair or the glint of a reflection from a piercing. He had noticed Quinn in the corridors, now either alone or with Puck, never accompanied by the tall figure Blaine had been used to seeing her with.  

So it was with a great flood of relief that he spotted Kurt leaning nonchalantly back against his car less than a week later, as if he belonged there. As if he had always been there.

“Hi, Lurky McLurkisson. Fancy seeing you here,” Blaine said as he made his way over to his car a couple of days later. 

Kurt nodded a greeting, a brief smile flitting across his lips. “Hi, Blaine.”

Blaine walked up to him, grinning at him with his head on one side. “Where have you been the last few days? I haven’t seen you around.”

Kurt pushed himself off from the car with a huff. “I’ve been here.”

“Here?”

“Well not right here,” Kurt said with a roll of his eyes. “I haven’t been camped out in your car for a week. I mean I’ve been at school as usual.

“Oh.” He blinked. “Sorry, I tried to find you but you’re very elusive.”

Kurt looked at him steadily. “Sometimes I don’t want to be found.”

Blaine shifted on his feet but held his gaze, trying to figure out what Kurt meant. Did Kurt want Blaine to stop looking for him or was there something that Blaine wasn’t getting? But Kurt was the one who kept turning up to see  _him._ Why?

“So, I was thinking,” he began searchingly. “About this whole ‘lurking’ scenario.”

“This sounds ominous,” Kurt said, narrowing his eyes at him.

“It’s not bad! I promise!” he insisted. Kurt continued to look at him sceptically, an eyebrow raised. “So, we should go and get coffee or something. Maybe even,” he leaned in conspiratorially. “-leave the confines of this great educational establishment. As lovely as it is meeting by my car, we could try changing it up a little.”

“Kinky,” Kurt said dryly.

Blaine flushed right up to his ears. “Um. No. No, that-. I meant we could meet in different places.”

Kurt smirked at him. “I know, Blaine.”

“Right. Right, well,” Blaine rubbed at the back of his neck before gesturing to him. “Like, where do you go for lunch? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the dining hall.”

“Quinn and I usually eat outside somewhere.”

“Ah. Well, maybe we could all sit together sometime?”

Kurt hummed in vague agreement. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But for now, do you want to go for coffee?”

“I can’t today.”

“Oh, well maybe tomorrow?” he tried hopefully.

“I can’t do tomorrow either.”

“Oh,” Blaine attempted not to look too disappointed. “It’s…fine. Maybe another time.”

“I  _can’t_ though.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“No, I literally mean I  _can’t_.” Kurt jabbed a foot against the tarmac as he hung his head, the heat in his cheeks rising. “I’m grounded,” he mumbled.

“You’re…grounded?” Blaine repeated, biting back the smile threatening to spread across his face.

Kurt nodded into his chest, long graceful fingers playing nervously with one of his ear piercings.

“Oh wow,” Blaine chuckled under his breath. “That’s…oh wow. Don’t be offended but you don’t strike me as the type to actually pay attention to authority. I’m surprised being grounded even registers on your radar.”

“I…may have tried skipping earlier in the week. Didn’t go so well for me.”

“No?”

“No,” Kurt said flatly. “Really, really not.” 

“Huh,” Blaine scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Dare I ask what happened?”

“My dad, uh,” Kurt cleared his throat. “He, well, when I got back like, 4 hours late, I went up to my room and he, had uh, locked my closet. With like, five high security locks.” Blaine fought back another smile with somewhat less success. “I couldn’t get through any of them,” Kurt added sadly.

Kurt looked so crestfallen that his father had thought to buy un-pickable locks that a laugh bubbled up before Blaine could hold it back. “Oh my God. Wow, sorry, talk about hitting you where it hurts.”

Kurt scowled at him, his brow crinkled adorably. “Yeah, well. I didn’t find it very funny. He said he won’t open it until I go do some work for him.”

“Oh, well, don’t let me keep you any longer then,” Blaine backed away. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for keeping you from your clothes.”

“It’s not just my clothes,” he said almost inaudibly. Then in a louder tone, “But actually, about that…” Kurt shuffled awkwardly on the spot. “Iwaswonderinifyoudgimealift,” he rushed out in one breath.

“Didn’t catch that, sorry Kurt,” Blaine said, cupping a hand to his ear.

“I was wondering if you would, um, give me a lift. To my dad’s shop. I’m supposed to be there. Soon.”

“You dad’s shop? He’s a mechanic?”

“Yeah,” Kurt nodded. “He owns a garage on the other side of town.”

“You’re a mechanic’s son and you don’t have a car?”

“I have a car,” he said snootily, jutting out his chin. “I just choose not to drive it.”

“O-kay,” Blaine said hesitantly, storing that away to ask about later. “Well, lucky for you it’s a non-Glee day. It would be a pleasure to take you,” he sent his most charming smile to Kurt. “Hop in.”

He skirted around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat while Kurt opened the door of the passenger’s side. Blaine leant over quickly to clear the jumble of CDs and sheet music from Kurt’s seat, apologising profusely for the mess.

Kurt just shrugged and helped shift the piles of stuff on to the back seats or into the glove compartment. He paused when he picked up one of the CDs, a soft expression passing across his face. Blaine craned his neck as discreetly as he could to try and see the title. It was his copy of the original soundtrack of The Sound of Music.

“Do you know it?” he asked curiously.

Kurt started and looked up at Blaine, his eyes wide and slightly glassy. For a moment he looked so incredibly vulnerable and young. He lowered himself into the seat, still clutching the CD possessively to his chest. He blinked slowly, and just like that his face reset, indifference settling heavily over his features.

He shrugged.

“You can put it on if you want,” Blaine offered as he turned the key in the ignition and began to pull out of the school lot.

“No, it’s okay. Whatever you were listening to is fine.” 

Blaine sighed and just let the radio play quietly in the background.

The silence dragged on in the car. Kurt was slouched away from him, the side of his head resting against the cool window. Blaine drove on, occasionally asking Kurt for directions. He only received one word, sometimes monosyllabic, answers.

“I’m confused,” he stated eventually. Kurt glanced at him. “Are you  _trying_ to be all mysterious and enigmatic or do you just genuinely not want to talk to me? Because the amount of times you have initiated contact between us would say otherwise. You’ve got to stop shutting down on me.”

Kurt just stared at him, expression unchanged. 

“Come  _on_ , Kurt. Please, just, talk about something. Anything.”

Kurt looked away, watching the scenery pass them quickly as they sped through the town. “I…don’t know what you want me to talk about,” he said quietly. “There’s not much to say.”

“Okay. Let’s start with something easy. You like The Sound of Music?”

Kurt chuckled bitterly. “That is the furthest thing from easy.”

“Okay, uh,” Blaine wracked his brain for other topics. “Talk me through your outfit today. Maybe my education on your fashion choices can begin right here, right now. Because to me, no offence, but it kind of looks the same as yesterday’s. Which, if it were true and I recall correctly, would be a heinous crime.”

Kurt glared at him. “Blaine. You’re fucking terrible at this. I just told you that my dad locked me out of my closet. Do the math.”

Blaine flushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He was making a complete mess of this.

Kurt shifted around in his chair and stared at Blaine calculatingly. “Blaine?”

“Yes?” he replied tentatively.

“Why did you transfer?”

“Um, well-” he paused. “My parents couldn’t afford Dalton anymore?” It sounded weak even to his own ears.

“Bullshit,” Kurt said simply. “Why did you really transfer?”

“I don’t really…want to go into it right now.”

“No?” Kurt asked. “Well then, let’s move on. Why did you feel the need to clarify the fact that the bright red liquid on you was slushie and not anything else?”

Blaine opened his mouth and promptly closed it again. 

“Exactly,” Kurt said. “I’ll try something else. Why did you feel the need to come into school at half seven the other morning when you obviously have no need of extra credit or are in danger of getting below an A in anything?”

“I don’t think-” he stopped. 

 Kurt smirked at him, looking smugly across the car at him. “Not so easy is it? Sometimes it’s nice  _not_  to question everything. Sometimes it’s nice to just  _be_ , you know?” 

Blaine shook his head lightly, but not in disagreement. He twisted his fingers around the steering wheel. “I just want to get to know you,” he said softly, flicking his gaze over at Kurt.

“Why?”

Such a simple question. Unfortunately the simplest of questions often warrant the most impossible answers. He replied with a question of his own. “Why do you keep coming to my car?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt hesitated. He looked as lost as Blaine felt.

“Then why did you help me that day? With the slushie?

“Because you looked so helpless. Anyone could have done it,” Kurt dismissed.

“But that’s just the point I don’t think you get. Anyone  _could,_  but no-one actually  _did._  Only one person out of a whole corridor full of people did.”

He pulled up into the front parking lot of the garage and turned off the engine, twisting in his seat to look at Kurt properly. 

“But it’s because you’re different,  _because_  you’re not like the rest of them,” he insisted, desperate for Kurt to understand. “For whatever reason, you helped me. And that makes me want to get to know you.”

Kurt twisted his hands in his lap, then seemed to force himself to stop. “Okay. But you’ve got to talk as well. It’s got to go both ways.”

Blaine quirked a corner of his mouth in teasing amusement. “Kinky.”

Kurt whacked him on the arm with a release of tension. “Asshole. And that’s an  _incredibly_ tenuous innuendo,” he added.

His smile widened into a free grin. “But it is an innuendo nonetheless,” he said smartly. 

Kurt mouth twitched into a fleeting smile, the elusive twinkle Blaine had only glimpsed a couple of times returning to his eyes.

“Also,” Blaine said, “I realised that we haven’t even exchanged numbers.”

Kurt sighed with a long-suffering roll of his eyes, but reached for his bag and pulled out his phone. “Just as long as you don’t expect to be exchanging friendship bracelets or skipping through the fields holding hands any time soon.” 

He paused.

“I will give you my number.”

Kurt refused point blank to be in a photo for Blaine’s contacts (he still managed to take a stealthy one when Kurt thought he wasn’t trying anymore though), but he was still  _there_ in Blaine’s phone.  _Progress._

Blaine opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a sharp knocking on his window. A tall man wearing mechanic’s overalls and a cap was standing expectantly outside the car, motioning for Kurt to roll down the window.

Blaine glanced back at Kurt. He seemed to have shut down completely in the millisecond Blaine hadn’t been looking at him. Once again, a blank yet tense look overcame his face, washing away all   vestiges of openness that Blaine had been revelling in. His body language had changed abruptly; where he had been previously sat relaxed, slightly twisted around to talk to Blaine, he was now rigid and uncomfortable in his seat, hand immediately winding its way through his hair before fiddling at his earring.

Kurt closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath before opening the window.

“Yes?” he asked flatly.

The man ducked down to the level of the car. “Hey buddy, and -Blaine, I assume?”

Blaine nodded slightly uncertainly, glancing between the two men. “Yes, sir.”

Burt leant through the car across Kurt to grasp Blaine’s hand. “Burt Hummel.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Blaine said politely. 

“You should come over sometime. It’d be nice to meet some of Kurt’s proper friends.”

Kurt was still only looking forward through the windshield at wide gaping doors of the garage. Blaine scanned his face for some kind of signal as to whether he would be welcome or not, but his face was set in an unfathomable mask, no emotion given any chance to escape.

“That would be lovely,” Blaine said hesitantly, still searching Kurt’s face. He gave no sign of approval or disproval.

Burt nodded and then clapped Kurt on the shoulder. “You gonna get in here sometime today or what?” he said cheerfully. “That closet isn’t gonna unlock itself!”

Kurt nodded infinitesimally and silently gathered his things, muttering goodbye to Blaine as he slipped out of the car. 

Blaine watched as Kurt slunk away from his father and Blaine, a little relieved that he wasn’t the only one Kurt shut down on.


	8. Chapter 8

Kurt kept a vigilant pledge of silence for his first shift at the garage. He tugged on his overalls and jammed his headphones over his ears, resolutely ignoring his father’s attempts at conversation as he got to work.

He had been demoted, that was the reality of it. Demoted to changing tyres. Hundreds upon hundreds of tyres for people too dumb or lazy to learn how to do it themselves. Never mind that he had been forced to spend every Sunday here as a kid when his mom went off to teach her classes. Never mind that until the age of twelve he had been the best goddamn mechanic in this garage  _period_. Never mind that there was an apprentice, Hank, who’d been there for three days and yet was already fiddling around inside a hood. Kurt seethed when he saw his father give Hank a pat on the back.

Fuck him.

Fuck them both.

Fuck everything.

After a while he shrugged off the top of his overalls and grabbed his smokes before heading out of the back of the garage and into the parking lot. He sheltered behind one of the other mechanic’s trucks and drew long drags on his cigarette, shivering in his thin black t-shirt. He flicked his lighter again and again, warming each hand alternately. 

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, eyes widening in shock when he saw he had eight unread messages. 

_From: Unknown (3.47 pm)_   
_Hi it’s me! Just so you have me in your contacts too :D_

_From: Unknown (3.49 pm)_   
_It’s Blaine btw. Just in case you weren’t sure :)._

_From: Unknown (3.52 pm)_   
_Oh and I forgot to give you your t-shirt back. I’m sorry! It’s in my car all nice and clean and ready for you. Next time, I promise._

_From: Unknown (3.56 pm)_   
_Not that I’m assuming you’ll be in my car anytime soon. I will get it back to you as soon as possible._

_From: Unknown (3.58 pm)_   
_But I am happy to give you a lift across to your dad’s shop anytime you want._

_From: Unknown (4.01 pm)_   
_When it doesn’t clash with Glee of course._

_From: Unknown (4.05 pm)_   
_I’m so sorry for spamming your texts._

_From: Unknown (4.08 pm)_   
_It’s important that you know I appreciate the irony of me apologising for sending texts with a text. This is the last one I promise. See you at school! x_

Kurt stared down at his phone in complete bewilderment, flicking back through the texts with his thumb. Eight texts. Eight. He leant back against the car and brought the phone up to eye level, reading them through again and again. He couldn’t help but give a little snort at the last text, a small smile curling up around his cigarette as he inwardly rolled his eyes at how very _Blaine_ it was. Kurt had noticed that Blaine didn’t exactly have a particularly well-honed sense of when to shut up in conversation, and that quality apparently applied to all forms of communication.

He couldn’t help but linger on the final letter of the final text. He tried not to read too much into it, tried to ignore the heavy thud of his heart in his chest as his eyes tracked the two crossed lines again and again. He knew that that was the common way to end texts, that it was probably not even thought about at all - a slip of the fingers when Blaine forgot who he was talking to. 

And yet.

“Kurt?” his father’s voice called loudly from the garage. “You out here?”

Kurt shut his phone off and pushed it down into his pocket, a small smile playing around his mouth as he shook his head gently in amusement. He held his cigarette between his lips and walked around the edge of the truck, pulling up his overalls as he went.

His father was leaning out of the back door, a look of resignation on his face as he scanned the lot. He spotted Kurt slipping out from behind the truck and his features immediately set into a firm grimace. “What did I say about smoking, Kurt?”

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, reaching up to pinch the cigarette between two fingers, exhaling slowly as he stared straight at his father.

“Well, you’re not coming within ten metres of this garage with that thing,” Burt said firmly.

“That really  _is_  a tragedy,” Kurt said sarcastically, flicking away the ash from his cigarette. “What  _will_  I do with myself?”

“You know the deal. No work means no closet. You choose,” Burt said with a sigh and ducked back into the garage, leaving Kurt standing staring at the closed door. 

He scuffed his foot angrily against asphalt and trudged back up to the garage, tossing his cigarette over his shoulder as he went.

 

*

 

Blaine lay face-down and fully clothed on the top of his covers. It had been hours - he had counted them - agonising  _hours_ since he had sent that hideous volume of texts to Kurt and he had got absolutely nothing whatsoever in reply. 

He had done everything he could to forget, but in the end he just had to accept that yes, he actually did send Kurt eight texts in a row just after Kurt had essentially told him to back off slightly. If he wasn’t running for the hills before he certainly would be now.

Blaine had completed all his homework, extra credit work included, and had a look at the upcoming work in his textbooks. A large neat pile of laundry now sat on his armchair in the corner of his room. He had tested a new recipe for dinner, a Greek salad he had been meaning to try out for ages (which turned out to be delicious). He had even been for a run and then had a good session with the punching-bag in the basement. 

He had even ironed all his bowties for goodness’ sake.  _All_.  _Of. Them._

Then, and only then, could he bring himself to check his phone. He had cringed away from it, readying himself for the inevitable “Stop texting me, weirdo” as he pressed the button, only to slump down as he saw the empty screen, partly with relief but mostly with frustration at himself for getting so ridiculously worked up over  _nothing._

He had forced himself to take a shower and calm down, climbing into his comfiest sweats before face-planting onto the bed with a quickly muffled groan. 

He turned his head slightly on the covers, revealing his flushed face to the relatively cool air of his bedroom. Reaching out an arm to press the button on the top of his phone one more time, he tilted it towards him on the soft blanket. He sighed. Still nothing.

He placed his phone on the nightstand and slid beneath the covers, curling up tightly with  _The Perks of being a Wallflower_. He could feel his eyes drooping almost immediately, the stupid rush of the past few hours finally catching up with him. Charlie would have to wait another day. 

The moment he switched out the light, his phone buzzed energetically on his nightstand, filling the room with white light. 

_One message._

He closed his eyes tightly and steeled himself with a grit of his teeth, sliding a finger across the screen.

_From: Kurt (11.23 pm)_   
_See you at school._

He stared at it for a moment, squinting at it in the darkness as he repeated the message under his breath with different inflections and intonations. The period seemed awfully finite, and the sentence itself read as very flat, but then again, it didn’t seem like Kurt was one to use an abundance of emoticons, and the ‘see you at school’ meant that Kurt would allow himself to be found at school; that maybe he actually wanted to see Blaine there?

Blaine moaned into his blanket in annoyance. He really needed to stop over-analysing everything.

 

*

 

The next day, Blaine made sure to keep an eye out for Kurt. For what, though? Was he seriously expecting to get the ‘hey so this guy texted me eight times last night and I find it kind of creepy so I would like him to stay away from me’ vibe from just seeing him across the hallways?

He needed to turn the crazy down a notch.

He searched him out at lunch, but couldn’t find him in any of his usual spots. He eventually thought he would just try the bleachers out on the football field. That seemed an appropriately Kurtish place. 

And sure enough, he looked up from the pitch to see Kurt leaning back against the fencing surrounding the top of the bleachers. Blaine dug his hands into the warm pockets of his thick wool cardigan and sprang up the steps, a nervous grin spreading uncontrollably across his face as he went. 

Kurt was wearing his gorgeous leather jacket again, this time with a white t-shirt underneath and (unless he was very much mistaken) a woollen McQueen scarf wrapped securely around the pale column of his neck. His tall Doc Martens were tucked up tightly under him, his long legs bent in half with one arm clutching them closely to him.

Blaine bounded up the final few stairs and came to a stop right in front of Kurt. Kurt looked at him, his face set in its usual completely unfathomable expression. Blaine rocked back and forth on the ball of his feet, unsure whether to sit next to him or not. “Hi!”

“Hey,” came the short but not unwelcoming reply.

“How are you?”

“Cold. Fine.”

Blaine kicked himself for not bringing his jacket with him. “We could go inside if it’s too cold?”

Kurt simply held up his cigarette in response.

“There is a simple solution to that problem you know,” Blaine teased gently.

“Buy a warmer jacket?” Kurt tried as he sent a fleeting grin at Blaine.

“I was thinking more along the lines of stopping the whole smoking thing. But sure, yours works too.”

Kurt’s eyes sparkled over at him, and he gestured to the bench next to him. “Sit.”

A wave of relief washed over Blaine as he sat down next to Kurt, drawing his cardigan closely around him. “So how was the garage yesterday?”

Kurt shrugged. “Fine, I guess. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah?” Blaine prompted. 

“Yeah.” Kurt nodded. “Over four years actually,” he added.

“Wow,” Blaine whistled. “They must have started you young if you  _stopped_  when you were what, like twelve?”

“I had actually just turned thirteen, but yeah.”

Blaine considered his next question carefully. He didn’t want to scare him off or push him too far in any way. But Kurt seemed relatively relaxed today, leaning back against the fencing. Any previous tension in his body had dissipated and his face was as open as Blaine had ever seen it. And yet Blaine was ever mindful of their conversation in the car yesterday. 

“Have you always done that, um, mechanic-y stuff?”

Kurt raised an amused eyebrow. “Mechanic-y stuff?”

“Yeah, um,” Blaine smiled self-effacingly. “Sorry I’m not ‘down’ with the correct terminology. I guess I should be though. My dad tried to get me into cars one summer.”

Kurt smirked. “It sounds like it went really well, if you’re asking about all the ‘mechanic-y stuff’ I do.”

Blaine grimaced. “No it wasn’t the best. I think it was one of his more desperate ‘Let’s make Blaine straight’ plans. I’ve never shown any interest in cars.”

Kurt looked over at him with a strangely soft expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry your dad’s an asshole.”

Blaine laughed and was pleased to hear it didn’t come across as completely bitter. “Thanks. I got over it.”

Kurt continued to look at him appraisingly. “Still.”

“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug. “It was a long time ago.”

Kurt hummed noncommittally and they lapsed into silence. A silence that Kurt seemed completely content with, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the fencing. Blaine glanced at him. His face was relaxed, chin tipped up towards the sky, pale skin almost glowing in the reflections from the weak sun. He had turned up the collar of his leather jacket against the chill, the edge of it brushing against the short tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck.

“Blaine?”

Blaine looked back up at him. “Yes?”

“Stop,” Kurt said firmly, without opening his eyes.

“Um,” Blaine started, completely nonplussed. “Stop what?” As far as he was aware they were both doing absolutely nothing.

Kurt breathed loudly out through his nose and pulled his head forward from where it had been leaned back against the fence to send a level glare at Blaine. “Stop,” he waved a hand at him. “-that.”

Blaine blinked at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, Kurt, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Stop with the jiggling and the tapping and all the constant fidgeting you seem to do.”

“Oh.” Blaine stilled his limbs with a faint flush to his cheeks. “Sorry? I didn’t realise that I was doing it.” His fingers twitched against his thigh even as he spoke, itching to continue tapping out the rhythm to his internal beat. 

Kurt didn’t say anything, but just settled back, his eyelids fluttering closed once more.   

“Kurt?”

Another deep sigh. “What?”

“Can I just ask you one question that’s kind of been bothering me? I promise we can get back to the ‘just being’ or whatever you want straight after.”

Kurt waved a hand at him. “Go on,” he said imperiously.

“Is the thing with Finn the other day, like, is that okay?” he asked cautiously. “Because he kind of had you pinned against the door. Is he going to do that again?”

Kurt shook his head, his mouth set in a thin line. “I have too much on him now. He’s not going to do anything else.”

“Are you sure? He’s kind of…unpredictable and scary.”

Kurt chuckled darkly. “Oh Blaine, you’re only a few years late with your concerns. Finn’s a fucking asshole, but it’s fine now. His mom is dating my dad.” Blaine made a small noise of surprise. “Oh I  _know_ ,” Kurt nodded emphatically. “It’s a fucking nightmare but at least he’s too scared of what I can tell his mom that he won’t dare do anything else.”

“Well,” Blaine said hesitantly, “If you’re sure.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said shortly, “As I said that day, I can look after myself.”

“I know, I know,” Blaine placated. “It’s just….he’s really tall. And big and strong and did I mention tall?”

Kurt snorted. “It’s really fine.”

“Alright then,” Blaine smiled across at Kurt. Kurt rolled his eyes at him with what Blaine liked to think was fond exasperation and settled back once more.

 

*

 

Soon after that they fell into a pattern, taking lunch together most days.

Sometimes they were joined by Quinn, but more often than not it was just the two of them. Blaine had to track him down each lunchtime, and he gradually got to know the places Kurt liked to hang out. The bleachers, the courtyard, out on the grass by the parking lot… always outside. Lunch for Kurt, it seemed to Blaine, was not complete without a healthy serving of good old nicotine. And, Blaine puffed out his chest a bit in pride, he had refrained from mentioning his thoughts on that particular habit again. As good as Kurt looked languidly dragging on a cigarette - and boy, did he look  _good_  – after much consideration he had decided that the potential health risks far outweighed the aesthetics for Blaine. And yes, he had given it a lot of thought. At least the exposure to the cold meant that he could justify investing in more scarves. One could never have too many scarves.

The only downside to this new arrangement was that he suddenly incurred the wrath of the whole Glee Club, not just Finn. He avoided the glares from their table if he had to pass them in the search for Kurt, but caught the  _just_  loud enough passive-aggressive remarks from Finn about “certain people not even trying to fit in with the group.” It made Glee increasingly uncomfortable. Certain people, like Tina and Mike, were still incredibly sweet to him. But Rachel and Finn and a couple of others were becoming convinced he was just there to sabotage them - apparently him being at McKinley was all part of an ‘elaborate Warblers’ plot’.   

Blaine barely noticed as sectionals came and went; it made no difference, after all, if he was singing back-up in the choir room to two people or to an auditorium of hundreds. Finn had made absolutely sure that he didn’t even get so much as a solo line, saying that ‘solos are for people who are actually part of the club, not just hangers on’. Blaine seethed quietly in his seat, refusing to stoop to his level. He had never once missed a Glee practice, had never done anything to make the New Directions think he didn’t want to be a part of their group, and yet they didn’t accept him. He was still being kept at arms length.

But it was worth it.

In fact, it was worth it ten times over for each crinkle of Kurt’s brow in amusement for something Blainehad said or done, for each small twitch of the lips upwards or twinkle in his eye. 

But Blaine had so many questions he had to almost physically restrain himself from bombarding Kurt with them. He didn’t like to think of Kurt as a horse that he didn’t want to spook, but sometimes it felt that way. Kurt was extremely edgy - not just in the cool hipster way (which he definitely was) but also in the ‘say one wrong thing and I am leaving and not coming back’ way. 

When Quinn was with them she hardly ever said anything. She just sat there, watching. Blaine didn’t really understand Kurt and Quinn’s relationship very well. They hardly ever spoke to each other, and when they did every other word was a  curse word, but they both seemed to be happy with this arrangement. Blaine had seen Quinn a little outside of her relationship with Kurt, and she had been much chattier then, much more open. But he didn’t want to pry. Well, not overwhelmingly so, anyway.

One afternoon a week or so after sectionals, Blaine walked slowly to his car, bumping into people left, right and centre as the vast majority of the student population made their bid for freedom. There was no Glee practice today and he had little to no desire to go home spend extra time in his empty house, so he was weighing up his options. He was just thinking of maybe heading down to the library or perhaps the music shop when he spotted Kurt leaning against his car. 

Smiling, he made his way over to him. “To what do I owe this great honour?” Blaine asked with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Kurt smiled tightly in greeting. “It appears my beloved father has been ‘enlightened’ on the true meaning of parenthood and has thus decided that we need to bond,” he said sardonically. 

“Okay?” Blaine said questioningly, not sure of where he fit into this.

“And apparently bonding with me involves you. Coming over to the house.” Kurt tugged anxiously on the stud in his ear. “If you want? Um, you don’t have to, if that would be weird or you know, if you don’t want to be exposed to severely awkward familial dynamics.”

“Are you inviting me over to your house?” Blaine asked searchingly, needing to construe Kurt’s exact request.

“Yeah,” Kurt clarified. “But feel free to say no. Fuck knows I would.”

“That would be great,” Blaine said with an easy smile. “I was just wondering what I was going to do this afternoon.”

Kurt nodded jerkily. Blaine opened the car door and ushered him in, skirting around the hood of the car before pulling out of the school and driving the short distance around the corner to Kurt’s house.


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine drove down the quiet suburban street, aware of Kurt in the corner of his eye slumping lower and lower in his seat the closer they got to his house. Blaine couldn’t help but wonder what “extremely awkward familial dynamics” entailed exactly. It seemed as though Kurt didn’t  _do_  awkward; as far as Blaine was aware, complete indifference (at least on the surface) was Kurt’s go-to manner when he was a little uncomfortable. And whilst the idea of locking Kurt’s clothes away when they were clearly something incredibly important to him seemed unnecessarily cruel to Blaine, Burt had come across as a genuine (albeit slightly terrifying) man who cared about his kid. But then again, Blaine had only briefly met him once. 

A fleeting few minutes later, Blaine signalled and carefully checked his mirrors before pulling into the Hummel driveway. It was empty and the house lay quiet behind it, the dark windows staring vacantly out at them. He put the car firmly in park but left the engine idling with the heater on and turned to face Kurt.

Kurt was almost lying down in his seat by now, working an anxious hand through his hair as he studiously avoided looking at Blaine, peeking out instead over the edge of the dashboard at the house. “He’s not fucking here,” he muttered against the window, resting his chin on the ledge so that his warm breath condensed on the glass, forming ever changing shapes that shimmered bewitchingly across the clear surface before fading and retreating back on themselves.

Blaine ran his eyes over the unfathomable expression on Kurt’s face. The tension had returned to his body, and his blue eyes were darting around the car and house like a caged animal.

Blaine shifted in his seat, waiting for some kind of signal from Kurt. But he showed no signs of movement. At all. “Are we going to stay in the car all afternoon or go in?” Blaine finally asked. “Because I’m not too sure if my heater can take it if we stay here. My car’s getting on a bit. Poor Gloria,” he added, patting the dashboard affectionately.

Kurt flicked his eyes to Blaine with a quirk of his lips. “The heater is the last thing you need to worry about on this car, Blaine,” he said dryly. Blaine raised his eyebrows in question. “I’m pretty sure you’ve worn down the bearings in the engine,” he continued grudgingly, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes with a loud exhalation. “And the gasket definitely needs tightening, maybe even replacing.”

Blaine blinked. Kurt had got all that from not even looking inside the engine? “Are you serious?” he asked.

Kurt rotated his head around against the seat to look up at Blaine through his lashes. “Mechanics is no joking matter, Blaine,” he said gravely, the twinkle in his eyes giving him away. “But yes, it does need to go into the shop. Like, yesterday.”

“Alright,” Blaine agreed with a grin. “I’ll take it in.”

Kurt nodded his approval and opened the car door, rolling out onto the driveway to land nimbly on both feet. Blaine mirrored him somewhat more sedately, turning the car off completely before slipping out and hopping up the couple of steps to the deck around Kurt’s house. Kurt let them in with his key and walked into the hallway, propping the door open for Blaine with his foot. 

Blaine wiped his feet carefully on the mat before taking the door from Kurt and toeing off his shoes. He nudged them neatly against the opposite wall while Kurt battled with the laces on his boots, grumbling under his breath as he tugged them loose bit by bit. Blaine watched with amusement as Kurt huffed and sank to the floor, giving up on undoing the laces completely as he resorted to just wrenching them off instead.

Kurt eventually got his boots off and scrambled to his feet, his face a little red as he brushed down the front of his jeans. “Not my most dignified of entrances,” he said, in what Blaine thought was supposed to be a haughty tone. Blaine grinned lopsidedly at him. “Um, come in, I guess.” Kurt motioned Blaine towards the hall with a wave of his arm. 

Blaine squeezed against the wall to close the door behind him, shutting out the cold with a decisive click. The quiet of the house settled around them heavily, and Blaine began humming quietly under his breath .  Kurt gave him an odd look but then turned away from him into the house. 

Blaine followed Kurt into the hallway. The stairs went up the right hand side, a vast array of photos leading the way up to the second floor. Blaine could see dozens of them scattered up the pale cream expanse of wall. Most contained three people, but a few of them looked to be wedding photos. Blaine couldn’t quite make out details of any apart from one portrait right at the foot of the stairs displaying a baby in its cot. The chubby infant was wearing a lilac onesie and had a small tuft of light brown hair sticking up, wild and unkempt, on the top of his head. Blaine smiled as he peered closer. The baby was looking up at the camera with wide blue eyes, one pudgy hand reaching out to the camera as if asking something from the photographer. 

“Aw,” he cooed. “Look at you.” He glanced over at Kurt. “That is you, right?”

Kurt grimaced but nodded, barely looking at the photo before grabbing Blaine’s arm and pulling him away from the wall. “Step away from the baby pictures, Blaine.” Kurt led him along the side of the staircase, hand still wrapped around the Blaine’s bicep. Blaine could feel the hair prickling up along his arm, ripples of warmth radiating out across his skin from Kurt’s touch. 

Blaine nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to take in the house around him while still attached to Kurt. He just caught a glimpse of a sumptuous looking sitting room on the left hand side before he was pulled impatiently onwards into the kitchen.

Kurt let go of him with a jerk as they entered the room, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he came to a stop in the middle of the kitchen by the island. Blaine paused just inside the threshold of the room. Kurt was looking uncertain of himself, tilting over onto the edges of his socked feet as he tugged anxiously at the cuffs of his jacket. 

“So,” Blaine said, looking around the room as he tried to gather his thoughts. “This is Casa de Hummel.”

Kurt nodded uncertainly. From what Blaine could see, the house was beautiful. Almost too beautiful. The kitchen was immaculate: so sparklingly clean that it looked like it had been teleported directly from a commercial for cleaning products, and it had been carefully decorated in a variety of tasteful (but not boring) beiges and creams. The colour scheme was underscored by dark grey of the granite counter, which, Blaine noted, was currently being gripped tightly by a white-knuckled Kurt. There were signs that people did live here - the various photos scattered around and the newspapers on the side gave exactly the right impression - but it still felt overwhelmingly, well, _cold_  to Blaine. Like in a show-home, where the people in the pictures aren’t real and the flowers are plastic. 

Kurt was watching him expectantly, biting his bottom lip as he scuffed a foot over the tiled floor and leant against the island with an air nonchalance that Blaine soon recognised as completely artificial.

“It’s really beautiful,” Blaine said honestly. “I adore the colour scheme.”

The edges of Kurt’s mouth tipped upwards in a small but genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you. I did most of it myself,” he said casually.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said with a tilt of his head to the side. “This could have got really fucking awkward if you didn’t like it.”

“But I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t like it,” Blaine said plainly.

“I know,” Kurt said as he rolled his eyes. “You’re far too polite for that.”

“That I am,” Blaine replied, nodding earnestly. “But I do genuinely love it, so, hooray!” He raised his arms in small celebration in front of him.

Kurt turned away and snorted a few moments later, shaking his head. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Blaine’s smile wavered slightly, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“In a good way,” Kurt clarified, watching Blaine closely.

Blaine looked up to meet Kurt’s gaze. Their eyes locked briefly, but Kurt blinked immediately and quickly cleared his throat with a cough, looking away again. “So,” he said abruptly, “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Like, alcoholic?” Blaine asked incredulously.

Kurt let out a little huff of amusement. “No, Blaine. Like orange juice or coffee. Although if you do want something a bit stronger I could probably track that down for you.”

“Oh, no, um, orange juice is great thank you,” Blaine said, twisting his hands in front of him.

Kurt glided around the kitchen, reaching for a couple of glasses in a cabinet to fleetingly expose a tantalising slither of smooth pale skin before grabbing the juice out of the door of the fridge, nudging it closed with a small nudge of a hip. He handed a glass to Blaine and kept the other for himself. Blaine watched intently as Kurt threaded his fingers together around the cool glass and raised it to his lips, his piercing giving a faint clink as it caught on the crystal. Kurt swallowed the juice with a small shiver of pleasure before lowering the glass and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, raising his eyebrows questioningly at Blaine.

Because- oh. He was staring again.

Blaine dragged his eyes away from Kurt’s lips, feeling the heat rising to the tips of his ears as he ducked his head to take a long cooling sip of his juice. 

“So. What do you want to do?” Kurt asked, thankfully obliviously. “There’s fuck all to do around here.”

“Um,” Blaine croaked. He cleared his throat. “I really don’t mind. Whatever you usually do is fine.”

“I suppose we could watch some TV?” Kurt suggested with a shrug.

“Sure, sounds good.”

Kurt downed the rest of his drink and placed the glass in the sink before gesturing for Blaine to follow him. They left the kitchen and went back into the hall, turning right into the living room.

The room was full of warm colours; deep crimson curtains and homely oak furniture, a large inviting corner-couch and a huge overflowing bookcase behind it. And yet still there was something missing. Blaine couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was not quite right about this house. It felt oddly familiar though - a feeling he vaguely recognised from his own home. 

Blaine sank into the deliciously comfy sofa with a soft sigh of contentment, tucking his feet up under him and picked up a cushion to cuddle on his lap. Kurt moved over to the TV, turning it on at the monitor. He turned his back on it as it flickered into life, searching for the remote around the room.

_The Real Housewives of New York_ blared out into the living room. Blaine hugged the cushion closer to his chest as a wide grin spread across his face.

Kurt’s eyes widened in horror and he dived frantically for the remote he had located on the bottom shelf of the coffee table and stabbed at the buttons, face scarlet as he muttered quietly under his breath. Blaine just caught “my dad must have left this on” and “I have no idea where the fuck this came from” before he lapsed into silence and collapsed down into the corner of the sofa, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

“Well,” Blaine commented lightly, “I didn’t think you were a BRAVO kind of a guy.”

Kurt just mumbled unintelligibly under his breath, his chin dipping down to his chest.

“I love  _Real Housewives_ ,” Blaine said as flippantly as he could manage, glancing sideways at Kurt. “I wouldn’t mind if we kept it on.”

Kurt didn’t move from where he sat, just silently reached for the remote once more and pressed in the right channel number deftly. Almost, Blaine smiled to himself, as if he frequented this channel quite a bit.

They settled down agreeably together and Blaine tried to concentrate on the plights of Aviva and Ramoma but it was a repeat and he found his attention constantly shifting sideways to the boy currently stretched out comfortably next to him. It was the most relaxed he had ever seen him, and yet Blaine knew that in the blink of an eye he could close off, completely shutting into himself and defensively block anyone out. 

A commercial break came on, and Blaine took his chance.

“So, your dad wanted to meet me?” he asked conversationally.

Kurt dipped his head once in assent, keeping his eyes firmly on the TV.

Blaine sighed. “Kurt?”

“Hm?”

“Would you care to elaborate as to why exactly your dad wants to meet me?”

Kurt considered Blaine with a steady gaze, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. “I’ve never had a friend come over here before.”

“And you’ve lived here…how long?” he asked tentatively.

“All my life.”

Blaine hesitated. “Not even Quinn?”

Kurt shook his head. “My dad spoke to Quinn once when he thought she was my girlfriend. I don’t know what he said but Quinn has refused to come near him since. She said something about him reading her too well or some other bullshit.” Kurt rolled his eyes dramatically. “Whatever.”

“Okay,” Blaine pondered. “But why does he want to meet me?”

“Because then he can convince himself he’s bonding with me when actually he’ll be talking to you the whole time,” Kurt said flatly with no emotion, staring ahead at the TV again.

Blaine paused. “That makes no sense,” he said quietly.

Kurt shrugged casually in response, but his breath hitched slightly in his throat as he slowly drew air in. Blaine studied him for a moment more, his fingers running absentmindedly up and down the edge of the cushion, but then let him be. “So,” he prompted. “Team Ramona or Team Aviva?”

Kurt gave a short bark of high laughter and shook his head in the same incredulous and disbelieving way as earlier.

Blaine continued to stare at Kurt expectantly.

“What?” Kurt asked defensively.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Blaine said slowly. “It’s important to our friendship that you chose the right Team. No pressure or anything,” he added with a wink.

Kurt snorted and settled back into the couch to consider his answer.

 

*

 

After a few episodes, Kurt stopped side-eyeing Blaine after every exchange between the characters to gauge his reaction and was now just watching the programme with him. Just two guys, watching trashy TV together. It felt good.

Until, that is, Blaine heard the scraping of a key in the lock and Kurt visibly tensed beside him.

Blaine wiggled up on the couch to be straight in his seat when he heard the front door open. Kurt brought his knees up to his chest and curled his toes into the couch. The door closed with a loud bang, and Kurt’s dad shuffled into the doorway of the living room, distractedly flicking through a stack of mail. 

He glanced up at them and he let out a small grunt of greeting so reminiscent of Kurt that Blaine had to look between them to be sure from whom it has emanated from. Burt didn’t look up, distracted for the moment by the contents of the post. 

Kurt picked absently at a thread on the couch. Blaine watched as Kurt realised what he was doing began smoothing down the damaged area.

Eventually, Burt looked up from where he was stood in the door. “Hi boys,” he said with a small smile. “Sorry I’m later than I said I would be. Something came up last minute at the garage.”

Kurt shrugged a shoulder, not even bothering to look at him. Blaine smiled up at him politely.

“So,” Burt said with a small huff as he sank into his armchair. “What are we watching?”

“Nothing,” Kurt said flatly.

Burt raised his eyebrows. “I can see that,” he said peering forward to squint at the screen. “This that Housewives programme you insist on watching all the time?”

Kurt coloured and glanced sideways at Blaine. Blaine grinned mischievously across at him. “Shut up,” Kurt muttered, reaching forward to turn off the TV.

“I didn’t say  _anything_ ,” Blaine sang, tilting his head from side to side happily.

Kurt scowled playfully at him. Blaine just kept grinning, turning to Burt when he felt his eyes on him.

Burt was looking between the pair of them, a shrewd expression on his face. 

“What?” Kurt barked, his expression darker.

“Nothing, nothing.” Burt turned to Blaine. “So, Blaine,” Burt started. “You’re new this year?”

Blaine nodded apprehensively.

“Where’d you transfer from?”

Blaine glanced at Kurt, who was now closely inspecting his nails. “From Dalton Academy in Westerville.”

“Huh,” Burt said interestedly. “We actually considered sending Kurt there for high school. But-, well, it didn’t work out.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Kurt said quietly from his corner. Burt’s flicked his eyes to him uncertainly, but he returned his attention quickly to Blaine.

“Why’d ya change schools? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Blaine took a deep breath. “My dad felt that I wasn’t getting everything he had hoped for me out of the school,” he said carefully. “He didn’t deem it worth the tuition to keep me there.”

Blaine could feel Kurt’s eyes on him now, but refused to look over, steadying his gaze on the line of DVDs straight ahead of him. 

Burt settled back in his armchair, bringing one foot up to rest on the other knee. “So how’d you two meet?”

Kurt groaned and leant forward to glare at his dad. “Jesus Christ, dad. Why the fuck do you want to know that?”

“Just takin’ an interest,” Burt said innocently and then more sternly, “And watch your language.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes and slumped back on the cushions. “Whatever,” he muttered.

Blaine looked furtively between the two, not enjoying being put in the middle. He finally settled on Kurt, because even though Burt was an authority figure it was Kurt who was his friend. Well, he was pretty sure Kurt was his friend anyway.

Kurt waved a hand carelessly in Blaine’s direction. “Just answer his question. Get this over with.”

“Right, well,” Blaine started. “I was lost on the way to my Glee Club audition and Kurt showed me the way. Told me the way,” he clarified. “And then a few days after that I got slushied and Kurt helped me out.”

“Slushied?” Burt’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, you know, like someone threw an iced slushie drink on me? Kurt said that it happened a lot in freshman year to h-” Blaine saw movement from the corner of his eye and cut himself off halfway through the word. Kurt was frantically shaking his head at him. “Um,” Blaine hesitated. “Kurt said it happens a lot at our school,” he finished lamely. Kurt sank back into the sofa, a relieved look on his face.

Burt nodded absently. “Glee club audition you said? You get in?”

“Yes, I did,” Blaine said proudly.

“I never really got all that singin’ and dancin’ stuff.” Burt shook his head in bemusement. His face brightened. “But Kurt here, when he was a kid-”

“Dad!” Kurt interrupted loudly, scowling across at Burt. “Shut  _up_!”

“I was just gonna say-”

“Well  _don’t._ ”

Burt raised his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. I was just trying to help you actually open up-” 

“I don’t need your ‘help’,” Kurt said venomously, his voice raising in volume and pitch as he continued, “I’ve done fine without it until now and I am perfectly happy to continue that way.”

Blaine lowered his gaze to the cushion, fiddling anxiously with the tassels that ran down the edge. The room was silent, save for the laboured breathing of Burt from his armchair. Blaine had never wanted to run away so much in his life.

“Blaine, I think it’s best if you go now,” Burt said quietly.

A wave of relief washed over Blaine. Quickly followed by a larger wave of guilt. Because Kurt _couldn’t_  leave. This was Kurt’s home. Blaine glanced at him. The apples of his cheeks were tinged pink and he was twirling the stud in his ear between his thumb and forefinger, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

Blaine slowly got to his feet, plumping the cushion before replacing it to its place on the couch and gestured to the hall. “I guess I’ll just be off then,” he said falteringly.

Kurt blinked out of his stupor and untangled his limbs to stand up. “I’ll walk you out,” he mumbled.

Blaine nodded and walked back towards the front door. Kurt followed him and waited as he put on his shoes. Once he was ready, he turned back to Kurt.

“I’m really sorry to put you through that,” Kurt said in a tiny voice.

“It’s fine,” Blaine said. He smiled ruefully. “Well, it’s _not_  fine, but it’s fine, you know?”

Kurt nodded in understanding, his gaze on the floor in front of him.

Blaine leant forward and reached for Kurt’s hand. Kurt twitched a little in shock at the contact but didn’t take it back. His hand was surprisingly soft, and after a moment’s hesitation, he curled his long elegant fingers around Blaine’s, slotting them together into place perfectly.

“Please call me later if you want to talk,” Blaine pleaded quietly. “Even if it’s just about the last episode of The Bachelor. Please?” he implored, his wide eyes searching out Kurt’s glassy stare.

Kurt gave a tiny nod, the corners of his lips wavering upwards.

Blaine smiled encouragingly and squeezed his hand gently before letting it go, stepping backwards onto the deck as he maintained eye contact with Kurt. He gave one last feeble wave of his hand before reluctantly closing the door behind him. The last thing he saw was Kurt’s quivering smile drop heavily, his unfocused eyes staring out hazily at him until he was blocked from view.


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt fought to keep the smile on his face until after the door had closed behind Blaine but try as he might he couldn’t do it. His hand was still reaching loosely out into mid air where Blaine had left it. He retracted it slowly, watching as his fingers curled together into a fist as they tried to encapsulate the residual warmth left from Blaine’s touch.  

He listened intently for the retreating footfalls, heard the slam of the car door and the soft purring of the car. A smile crept unexpectedly across his face as he heard the telltale rattle he had picked up on earlier interspersed with the soothing sound of the engine. Blaine would have to bring in the car (“Gloria” Kurt corrected himself with a wry shake of the head) to be checked soon. And Kurt did happen to know a decent shop. With a fucking flawless mechanic with the best-fitting overalls in Lima.

Kurt wedged his now cool fingers into the pockets of his jeans, turning back towards the living room. He jumped when he saw Burt in the doorway with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, an indecipherable expression on his face.

“What?”

Burt just shrugged and leant sideways to rest on the wooden frame of the door.

Kurt rolled his eyes and stalked past him back into the kitchen. He could hear his father following behind him but ignored him completely, walking to the fridge where he began pulling out vegetables. He would do a stir-fry for dinner. At least then it would be over quickly. Small mercies and all that.

He reached down for the chopping board from the cupboard, fingers working absentmindedly over the engraving on the side (6 Aug ‘87) as he placed it gently down on the sparkling granite surface. He set up a steady rhythm chopping peppers and onions into juliennes, methodically cutting perfect strip after perfect strip with practiced ease. Kurt kept his head resolutely down, eyes trained on the sharp edges of the knife, aware of the unshifting gaze of his father from the corner of the room.

“Sometimes,” Burt said out of nowhere. “People aren’t going out of their way to make your life miserable. I was only tryin’ to be nice there, Kurt.”

Kurt set the knife down carefully next to the board and grabbed the wok from its hook. He moved it onto the heat, adding oil and swirling it around until he was satisfied the bottom of the pan was covered.

He looked up to meet Burt’s eyes. “Well don’t bother. It’s not worth it.” He scraped the vegetables off the board so that they tumbled haphazardly into the wok. They sizzled violently, spitting up oil as they settled into the heat. 

“I think it is,” Burt said quietly.

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, keeping his attention on mixing the vegetables.

Burt cleared his throat. “Blaine seems like a nice kid.”

Kurt added the noodles without so much as an acknowledgement.

“You two seem to get along well.”

He kept the pan moving, flicking and flipping the vegetables with a professional flick of the wrist.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone like him.”

Kurt scoffed as he carefully worked the wooden spoon around the edge of the pan, ensuring it was all cooked through.

“And it might be good for you that he likes all the musical stuff.”

He dished the noodles onto two plates and put the wok in the sink.

Burt sighed. “I’m not going to stop trying.”

Kurt deposited a plate of food in front of him. “Good luck with that,” he said as he swept out of the room.

 

*

 

Hours later found Kurt stretched out fully clothed on top of the covers of his bed, headphones carefully positioned over his shock of hair and iPod lying on the blanket next to him. His eyes were closed, and he might well have been asleep save for the rhythmic flexing of his fingers on his stomach and his lips working soundlessly around the lyrics of the song.

The light flicked on, sending his previously soothing dark world into an angry glowing orange. Kurt blinked his eyes open and squinted over at the door, rolling his eyes as soon as he saw who it was.

“Expecting someone else?” Burt joked.

Kurt just pointed to his headphones and shook his head in pretend confusion, turning up to face the ceiling and closing his eyes again. He waited a few moments, expecting his father to give up and go back downstairs. 

He was startled when the headphones were pulled back from his ears, and scrambled to sit up. “Dad, what the  _fuck?_ ”

Burt just shrugged. “Gotta get you to listen to me somehow.”

“Oh, yippee.” He flopped back down on his bed. “ Another ‘chat’.”

“Yep,” Burt said, moving over to sit on Kurt’s desk chair. “Something you’re gonna have to get used to I’m afraid.”

Kurt ground his teeth together in frustration. 

“So what’s the deal with this Blaine kid?”

“What do you  _think_  is the deal with ‘this Blaine kid’?”

“Kurt,” Burt sighed. “I’m just tryin’ to talk to you.”

“What the fuck do you want to know about him? You said you’re glad I’ve found ‘someone like him’, but  _what does that even mean_? Someone who’s not blowing smoke in your face? Someone who’s not wearing a ragged old leather jacket? Someone who’s not got dozens of piercings? Your judgement is truly inspiring.”

“Hey, no,” Burt protested. “You’re putting words in my mouth there.”

Kurt fixed him with an icy stare. “I know what you were thinking.”

“Do you, though? I’m beginning to think that we don’t understand each other at all.”

“No,” Kurt said, analysing the paint on his ceiling. “You just don’t even try.”

“Then what am I doing right now?”

Kurt resisted the (strong, _strong_ ) urge to roll his eyes derisively. Because  _seriously?_  His father was going to act like he should be  _rewarded_  for attempting to talk to his son?

Fuck. Off.

He inhaled steadily for three counts like the books said. Held it for three counts. Exhaled for six. 

He didn’t feel any better.

Again.

Nope. 

Fuck it. “A week of attempting fatherhood doesn’t make up for four years of failure.”

Burt didn’t reply and Kurt refused to look at him, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his breathing getting shallower with each breath. He blinked rapidly.

“I don’t know how to talk to you anymore, kiddo,” Burt said eventually in a low voice.

“You can start by not opening each conversation with some form of accusation. Maybe then I’ll be willing to listen to what you have to say.”

“Will you, though?”

“I guess that depends on what it is.”

“What if I were to say that I think it’s good you found someone like Blaine? Not in the way you have already decided that I meant, but in the way that I’m happy that you’ve found someone who actually  _gets_ you. That was really all I meant, Kurt.”

Kurt rolled onto his side to face away from Burt, curling up as he reached underneath the pillow to wind his fingers into the silk scarf carefully folded under it. “Whatever,” he muttered. 

Burt fell silent once again. Kurt could hear his heavy breathing from across the room on the bed, calming him with the undulating repetition of each breath in and out, in and out. 

His father’s breath suddenly hitched. Kurt peered back over his shoulder to look at him. Burt had his eyes fixed on a photo on the nightstand. Kurt ran his eyes over it, the familiar ache in his heart making itself known. It was his favourite photo, and one of his favourite memories of his mother.

She stared out at him from the past with sparkling blue eyes, eyes that people said were identical to his. He had spent many hours in the mirror trying to see the resemblance for himself, hoping to find that essence of her and feel her presence just for a second, just for a moment’s relief from the perpetual sense of panic that he would never see her again. 

He had never found it.

In the photo, she was kneeling next to him on the grass in their garden, a slender arm wrapped around his shoulders and her gently curled brown hair falling across onto his shoulders as he sat at the tiny table and chairs set out for tea. He must have been about eight at the time. 

“She would hate to see us like this,” Burt said quietly. 

Kurt stared into his mother’s eyes, allowing himself one more moment to drink her in before turning back to face the other wall. “Lucky for you she’s not here then, isn’t it?” 

“Kurt, please,” Burt whispered gruffly. “Don’t ever say anything like that again.”

Kurt swallowed. “No, because that would require us to actually talk about her, wouldn’t it? And that would obviously be the worst thing in the world.” 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I’ve never wanted to talk about  _it._ I wanted to talk about  _her_ all the time. But whatever, it’s fine now.”

“Clearly,” Burt said. 

Kurt kept quiet.  _Take the hint. Please. I can’t do this for much longer._

He heard Burt get to his feet and stretch a little, scooping up the plate Kurt had left on his desk and trudging towards the door. He paused at the door, swivelling his head to look back at Kurt.

“Why Blaine?”

“Why Blaine what?” Kurt asked wearily.

“Why are you letting Blaine in when you’ve pushed everyone else away?”

Kurt tipped his chin up and looked him in the eye. “Because I trust him,” he whispered.

He turned back to face the wall before he could see a reaction on his father’s face.

 

*

 

Kurt crawled into bed, drawing the covers over his head and holding his phone tightly in his hand. His finger hovered over the ‘call’ button next to Blaine’s name. He swerved instead to enlarge the thumbnail of Blaine in the corner of the screen. 

It was taken during normal lunchtime on the bleachers, sans Quinn this time, and Blaine had been messing around with his phone, trying to take a picture of Kurt. Kurt, naturally, had been extremely averse to the idea, not only because he was above such childish things but also because he had an angry red zit right smack bang in the middle of his forehead. That was no way to be in someone’s phone permanently. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing of course. 

Eventually they had agreed (grudgingly, on Kurt’s part) that if Blaine was to take a photo of Kurt it was only fair that Kurt return the favour and have a photo of Blaine as well. 

Kurt stared down at the photo. Blaine was looking straight into the camera with those ridiculous eyes of his, a soft smile playing around his lips. His chin was tucked into a woollen scarf wrapped warmly around his neck, shoulders braced against the cold. Kurt touched his thumb gently to the screen.

He sucked in a deep breath and quit the screen, squeezing his eyes tightly and stabbing blindly at the ‘call’ button. 

It rang out loudly against his ear until there was a click and then a small snuffling sound. “-lo?” Blaine answered thickly.

“Hi.”

The phone continued rustling. “Kurt?”

“The very same.”

“Oh,” Blaine said slowly, continuing to shuffle about, the phone crackling. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect you to actually call.”

Oh. Oh  _crap_. “This was one of those times when people say something or offer something that they don’t actually mean, wasn’t it? You didn’t actually want me to call.” Kurt ran a hand over his forehead anxiously. “Fuck. I should have got that.”

“No no,” Blaine said quickly. “I wanted you to call, I just didn’t necessarily think you would.”

Kurt sagged into the mattress in relief. “Well, I did.”

“And I am very pleased about that.” He could hear the smile in Blaine’s voice.

Kurt’s stomach gave happy little twist. “Good.”

There was a short pause. Kurt was perfectly content to just listen to the soothing sounds of Blaine’s breathing.

That was creepy again, wasn’t it? Fuck.

“I had fun today,” Blaine said conversationally. “My brother has tried to convince me that no-one of any substance actually watches Real Housewives, and I’m always pleased to have an opportunity to prove him wrong.”

“You have a brother?” For some reason he couldn’t imagine Blaine with any siblings at all.

“Yep,” Blaine said. “He’s much older than me, though. He lives in LA.”

Kurt gave a small whistle. “Lucky him.”

“I don’t know,” Blaine said thoughtfully. “I’ve been to visit him a couple of times and I’m not sold on it. I’ve always had a far stronger affinity for New York, personally.”

Kurt pressed his smile into the blanket. “Me too.”

“I’ve only been twice but I just fell in love with it, you know? I walked off the plane and immediately it felt right. It felt like home, like I was supposed to be there. Just two more years and I’llbe there…” Blaine drifted off dreamily. 

“I went this summer with Quinn and felt exactly the same.” Kurt said, not able to keep the excitement  from filtering into his voice. “It’s always been New York for me. My mom and I-” he broke off quickly, gripping the phone tightly. “Well, since I was a kid I’ve dreamt of living in New York.”

Blaine paused. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” he said carefully. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but if you want to talk about something, anything, then I will always be here. I’m a pretty good listener.”

“I-,” Kurt broke off, his voice cracking. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all.”

“You don’t have to be so nice, though,” Kurt said. “You didn’t have to answer my dad back there about the transfer. I know you weren’t exactly okay talking about it. You can say no.”

There was silence from the other end of the line then a light chuckle. “Sorry,” Blaine said with a small laugh. “I totally just shrugged down the phone at you.”

Kurt let out a breath of laughter.

“I guess I don’t like to let authority down,” Blaine said. Kurt could almost hear the grimace in his voice. 

“My dad is not ‘authority’, Blaine.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Blaine defended. “But that’s what Dalton does for you, I suppose.”

Kurt shuffled down further into his bed. “If we hang out enough that politeness will soon be gone. I am what I believe they call a ‘bad influence’. You should get out while you still can.”

Blaine huffed a laugh. “Think you’re some kind of badass, do you? I’m onto you, Mr Hummel. You can be all cool with your pink hair and your cigarettes and your heavy metal, but I know that you’re a teddy bear inside. It is my mission to release your inner teddy bear.”

“I-.” Kurt blinked. “-Don’t even know what to say to that.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Blaine said smugly. “Just wait. I will have my way with you.”

Kurt’s eyes widened in shock as he took in Blaine’s words. “Shut up,” Blaine groaned. “I know how that sounded. Just-,  _don’t_.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Kurt said innocently.

“Not yet, anyway,” Blaine grumbled.

Kurt pressed his lips together to hold in his laugh. It was just too easy.

“You can ask about it if you want,” Blaine said. “My transfer.”

Kurt rotated the stud in his ear thoughtfully. “I just don’t get why your dad _wanted_  you to transfer _out_  of private school.”

Blaine sighed heavily. “It wasn’t so much the private school part as the all-boys part.”  

Kurt scrunched his eyes in confusion. “What was the problem with that?”

“He found out I had a boyfriend.”

Oh. 

“A boyfriend,” Kurt echoed, an unsettled and jittery feeling worming its way to bottom of his stomach.

A  _boyfriend._

Much to Kurt’s relief, this topic of conversation had never come up between them. They had never even so much as confirmed that they were both  _gay_ , for fuck’s sake. He was sure Blaine must have heard things about him - he did know how hard the rumour mill worked at McKinley after all - but it had always seemed off limits for discussion somehow. An unspoken agreement to steer clear of talk of any romantic (or indeed, non-romantic) ‘encounters’.

“Yeah,” Blaine carried on, oblivious to Kurt’s discomfort. “He was my first proper boyfriend and my dad scared him off. Pathetic, I know.” Blaine said with a scoff. “I should have been pissed. But to be honest I couldn’t help but be a little relieved. He, -my ex-boyfriend that is, was a little… intense.”

Kurt swallowed. “Huh,” he said eloquently. Visions whipped through his mind with painful clarity. Blaine with a boyfriend. Wrapping long, tanned arms tightly around Blaine’s tiny waist. Walking with their hands swinging gently between them. Threading his fingers through his. Smoothing down the collars of his shirts. Tweaking his bow-ties. Singing with him in the car. Curling up in front of The Bachelor together.

“If I’m honest, though,” Blaine persisted. “And please excuse my language here, he was a complete and utter jerk.”

Kurt gave a shocked laugh. “Scathing words there from Blaine Anderson. If it was me, and I don’t even know the guy or what he did, I would just say he was a fucking asshole.”

Blaine chuckled thickly. “I know you would.”

Kurt curled up a little tighter into a ball, running his fingers up his arm. “So what was wrong with this guy?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

“He was just not a nice guy. Manipulative, arrogant, knows what he wants and is completely unwilling to compromise - you know the drill.” Blaine gave a small sigh. “But I loved him. He was my first everything, you know?”

Kurt hummed noncommittally in response.

“I’m sorry this must all seem so juvenile to you,” Blaine said. 

“No, no.” Kurt cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

“Well, I don’t want to bore you, so the long and short of it is that he’s not a good guy and I’m much better off without him.”

“…Would you like me to whoop like you’re on Oprah to celebrate that you’re a strong independent man?” Kurt asked dryly. 

Blaine laughed. “I would very much like to hear that actually, yes.”

“Another day, maybe,” Kurt said. “I’ve got to work up to it.”

“I’m sure.” Blaine yawned loudly in Kurt’s ear.

Kurt smiled. “I’m sorry to keep you up past your bedtime.”

“No, really, I’m fine,” Blaine bit back another adorable yawn.

“I’ll let you go back to sleep,” Kurt said. “But thank you for talking to me.”

“It was my pleasure. Bye, Kurt. Sleep well.”

“Bye, Blaine. See you at school.”

“Bye.”

He hung up and brought the phone tightly to his chest, holding it against him like a lifeline. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.


	11. Chapter 11

Kurt woke early the next morning, phone still clutched tightly in his hand and blankets tangled hopelessly around his legs. He sighed and stretched out, pushing the blankets to the end of the bed with his feet. Running a hand through his messy hair, he squeezed his eyes closed for just one more moment before rolling out of bed and trudging downstairs to get a coffee, his just-too-long sweats scuffing on the floor with each step. 

He folded his arms around his body, the chill in the house permeating through the thin undershirt he had slung on before bed, and shuffled into the kitchen. Kurt blinked blearily against the bright light streaming into the room. Broad rays of sunlight illuminated specs of dust suspended in the air, and he watched as they glittered and danced with the grace of tiny fairies.

Kurt noticed a large book on the table, left open, with an empty beer bottle abandoned next to it. It was a large leather bound photo album, one that Kurt knew well. 

The Wedding Album.

Kurt was fairly sure that his father hadn’t looked at it in the past four years. Every so often, he went around and dusted all the photos and books in the house, and each time they all had exactly the same amount of dust on them. In all the time that Kurt had taken it upon himself to make sure that none of his mom’s things should appear to have become neglected, none of them had ever been disturbed or the order changed. He knew his father had some photos in their bedroom, and probably other things of hers, but the albums in the living room had not been touched once.

And yet, here it was, open at the page of the moment they left the church, entering the world for the first time as husband and wife.

Kurt flopped into a chair and drew the album towards him, running his fingers down the edge of the page as he gazed down at the photo. The photographer must have been in the church porch looking out at the couple walking away to the waiting car. Kurt imagined someone called out to them and they both turned back, their bodies facing each other and hands clasped firmly between them. Even from a distance you could see that they were radiating happiness, eyes shining brightly out of the page up at Kurt, living in the moment when they were no longer alone in life, when they would always have someone there.

But few will ever be so fortunate. 

‘Til death do us part, indeed.

Kurt slammed the book closed. It was too early for this shit.

 

*

 

Blaine arrived early at school, hoping to catch Kurt before classes. He parked in his usual spot and pulled out his phone.

_To: Kurt (7.14 am)  
_ _I’m at school already :) If you’re here early as well I’ll be in the library! B x_

He spent his usual ten minutes agonising over how to sign it off (deciding eventually to just leave it how it was) and then gathered his books together and made his way to the library. 

After a few minutes he spotted Kurt slouching into the library, the collar of his denim jacket popped and his cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Hello, Kurt dear,” the old librarian trilled from behind her desk. “We missed you around here, it’s lovely to see you again.”

Kurt looked at her and then across at Blaine, as if to check that he was within hearing distance, startled wide eyes quickly calculating what to do.

“Good morning, Mrs Pince,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, darting over to Blaine’s table and sinking down into the chair opposite him.

Blaine grinned at him. “Good morning, Kurt dear,” he trilled in as close an imitation he could get to Mrs Pince.

“Fuck off,” Kurt groaned, burying his head in his arms.

“I think it’s lovely that you have such a good rapport with the library staff,” Blaine said, reaching forward to pat his arm. “Not quite the generous welcome I received, though, is it?”

Kurt lifted his head from his hands. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” Blaine said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world to remember an obscure conversation months ago.

“Oh,” Kurt ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I actually spent a lot of time here in Freshman and Sophomore years, so, I guess they got to know me or whatever.”

Blaine smiled at him. “I guess they did. Do you now understand what I was saying last night? Teddy bear.”

Kurt dropped his head to the table again. “You’re insane,” he mumbled into the scratched wood surface.

“I’m glad you called last night,” Blaine said after a while. “I was a little bit worried about you.”

Kurt jerked to sit up straight, regarding Blaine closely. “Number one: I don’t need anyone worrying about me, I thought we’d covered that already. And number two: there was no reason to be worried.”

“It’s just things between you and your dad seem a little-,” he paused to make sure he had to right word. “-Strained.”

Kurt snorted. “To say the fucking least.”

“You know it doesn’t make you weak if people are worried about you. It just means they care.”

Kurt opened his mouth, a harsh expression on his face and Blaine instinctually drew back from the inevitable blow, but he seemed to stop himself. “I-,” he started, stopping when his voice cracked to clear his throat. “Thank you.”

Blaine smiled gently over at him. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“There is,” Kurt said softly. “More than you know.”

The corners of Kurt’s eyes crinkled in a genuine smile. 

They both jumped as the first bell rang out loudly. Blaine glared at the offending object in annoyance. “I guess we should get to homeroom.”

Kurt nodded and got to his feet, smoothing down his pants carefully. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

Blaine leant forward and clapped a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “You’ll see me at lunch,” he said with a squeeze and a fleeting smile before he turned on the spot and set off to class, leaving Kurt staring after him.  

 

_*_

 

 _From: Blaine (12.35pm)  
_ _I’m in the courtyard if you’re looking for me. It’s a little more sheltered here :)_

Kurt sighed and pocketed his phone. The courtyard it was, then. He stood from where he had been huddled on the bleachers and pulled the long sleeves poking out of his denim jacket down over his hands, bounding down the steps and out onto the stretch of grass leading back to the school. 

He spotted Quinn coming towards him, the wind whipping at her short hair. 

“Hey,” he said as he got within speaking distance. “Blaine’s in the courtyard, says it’s a little calmer there.”

Quinn nodded and turned on the spot, tilting her head to smirk at Kurt. “Wouldn’t want to let Blaine down now, would we?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Quinn rolled her eyes. “You’re not half as discreet as you like to think you are, you know.”

“Fuck off,” he said with no bite.

“Nope,” Quinn said cheerily. “This is far too enjoyable.”

Kurt scowled at her, narrowing his eyes in accusation. “You’re far too joyful for such a shitty day. Why are you so happy?”

“No reason,” she said. “Just enjoying life.”

“Are you high?” he demanded. “What have you taken?”

“Can’t I be happy without you assuming I’m on something? I think that says more about you than it does me, Kurty-boy.”

Kurt ignored her, readjusting his beanie as they trudged through the school.

“There he is,” Quinn said when they got to the courtyard. “Go leap into lover-boy’s arms.”

Kurt head his head high and strode over to the steps, greeting Blaine with a nod and slumping down on the concrete next to him. Quinn ambled across, still smiling in that shit-eatingly frustrating way.

“What’s up with Quinn?” Blaine asked, watching her slowly come towards them.

Kurt shrugged nonchalantly. “Who knows? Bitch be crazy.” He drew out the vowel on the last word as he twirled his finger in the air by his head.

Blaine snorted inelegantly. “I don’t get you guys’ relationship, like,  _at all_.”

“It’s a beautiful relationship based on not really speaking with occasional bouts of insulting each other,” Kurt said with a smile. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand such things.”

Blaine drew himself indignantly, but before he could reply Quinn had finally arrived.

“Hello boys,” she practically sang. “What’cha doin’?”

Kurt settled back against the step behind theirs. “Oh, you know, the usual. Blaine here was just teaching me the fine art of underwater hockey, and then we were going to knit a sweater together or perhaps go to a Morris dancing class.”

Quinn nodded sagely. “Just as I thought.”

Blaine shook his head in amusement.

Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, pinching it between his lips as he patted down his various pockets to track down his lighter. He glanced up to see Blaine looking at him with a small frown on his face. Kurt looked away quickly. 

Quinn held out her lighter to him, a questioning look on her face. He grabbed it and lit up his cigarette, leaning his hand back against the step and closing his eyes. 

“Oh Christ,” Quinn said after a while. 

“What?” Kurt muttered, not opening his eyes.

“Incoming at two o’clock.”

“What?” Kurt hefted himself up to rest on his elbows and regretted it immediately. Rachel Berry was marching across the courtyard towards them, a look of terrifying intent in her eyes. “Oh joy.”

She came to a stop in front of them and drew herself up tall. “Blaine, Kurt, Quinn.” She nodded to them each in turn. Kurt stared back completely non-plussed.

Rachel turned to address Blaine. “Despite any previous altercations, we - the Glee Club - would like to cordially invite you to come and sit with us.”

“That’s a very sweet offer, thank you Rachel, but I already agreed to spend lunch with Kurt here.”

Rachel turned to Kurt in surprise, regarding him closely. He raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“I suppose I could be convinced to extend my invitation to include one more. Kurt, if you can handle not smoking us all out of the school for half an hour, I formally offer you the opportunity to sit with Glee Club in the cafeteria.”

“Golly gee whiz, what an honour,” he said, flicking the ash of his cigarette to the floor. 

Rachel beamed, the sarcasm in his voice going straight over her head. “I knew you’d come around eventually. Please, follow me.”

She swept off with a swish of her hair and headed into the school. Kurt turned to Blaine incredulously. “Seriously?”

Blaine gave an apologetic smile. “Seriously.”

Kurt shook his head in bafflement.

“Do you want to come?” Blaine asked.  “It could be, um, nice?”

Kurt looked at him with a sceptical tilt of the head. “You sound like you might need a little convincing there yourself.”

“Things between me and the Glee Club have just been a little…strained for a while.” Blaine scratched the back of his neck anxiously. “With me not sitting with them at lunch and stuff.”

A cold trickle of guilt slipped down Kurt’s spine. “You should go,” he said forcefully, bringing his cigarette to his lips.  

“No, that’s not what I meant. Lunch is like, our thing.” Kurt’s heart fluttered a little in his chest and he gave a small smile around his cigarette. “ I want you to come, too. Please?” Blaine sent Kurt a pleading look, wide amber eyes boring into Kurt’s.

Kurt blinked away from the contact. Dammit.

“Come on, don’t be so fucking boring. Let’s just go,” Quinn said loudly from next to them. Kurt jumped, having forgotten she was there.

“Just because you want to cosy up with Puckerman,” he muttered mutinously.

She shrugged, walking behind him and shoving him forwards. “We’re going.”

 

*

 

Kurt grumbled under his breath the whole way there, dragging the other two along as much as he could. Making sure Blaine was in front of him before he went into the cafeteria, he took another couple of quick puffs on his cigarette before he dropped it onto the concrete floor with a sly flick of the wrist.

After he’d followed him in, he saw that a  couple of tables had been pushed together on the other side of the room, and all the Glee Club was gathering closely around it, laughing and joking over their lunch. Kurt swallowed. This could not be further from where he belonged, further from what he felt comfortable with.

They abruptly stopped talking when they saw him approaching. Blaine faltered in front of him, stumbling over his own feet. Kurt reached out a hand to the small of his back and gently pressed him on. Blaine jumped at the unexpected touch, but fell back into step, throwing Kurt a tense smile back over his shoulder. 

They were all openly staring at him. He recognised most of them from his classes; Santana and Brittany, adjacent hands conspicuously under the table, Finn, already glaring at him, Mercedes, already ready to bitch him out, Tina and Mike, who looked unsure of how to react, and Artie, twisting his hands nervously in his lap. 

Kurt ran a hand through his hair and plunked himself in a seat next to Blaine, stretching his legs out under the table. His heavily booted feet hit those of the blonde-haired boy across from him, who immediately pulled his feet away under his chair. The boy looked at him with undisguised distrust. Kurt left his feet where they were, throwing him a wink.

Blaine sat primly next to him, so obviously uncomfortable that Kurt could feel the waves of tension rolling off him. He didn’t really get why this was so difficult for Blaine. He spent most of his time with this bunch of misfits, and the rest with him. Surely he should be in his element.

Kurt glanced around the table and was irked but not surprised to see Finn glaring at him from the other end. 

“Why is he here?” Finn asked the table at large, still staring at Kurt.

“Because I invited him,” Rachel said.

“I’m sorry but I don’t remember voting on whether we let _him_  sit with us.”

Kurt felt Blaine shift slightly in his seat next to him. 

“I had to take the executive decision when Blaine wouldn’t leave Kurt to lunch on his own,” Rachel said imperiously. 

Kurt looked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. A bright flush had blossomed up Blaine’s neck as he stared resolutely at his salad, twisting his hands nervously in his lap. Interesting. 

“But still,” Finn said petulantly.

Kurt smirked across the table at him. “You miss me?”

Finn stabbed at his food and didn’t reply. Kurt considered that a win.

Rachel cleared her throat. “Blaine, thank you for joining us. In these difficult times it is of paramount importance that we stick together as a club-“

“And by ‘difficult times’ she means the fact that we are so short of members that she can’t afford to have anyone else leave,” Tina chipped in. “Not anything to do with the financial crisis.”

“Must be trying times indeed,” Kurt said dryly. 

“Actually, Kurt,” Rachel said. “I think you’ll find these are extremely trying times. We need more members if we’re to compete at Regionals. The band have refused to mime in the background like they did for Sectionals - something about ‘loss of their musical integrity’ I’m not too sure because I had left before they finished, but the crux of the matter is that we have to keep everyone we’ve got and we need to start recruiting again.” She banged her fist on the table to punctuate the last few words to devastatingly little effect. 

“I’m sorry,” said Kurt, not sorry at all. “But why am I being subjected to a Glee Club meeting? Can’t you just eat lunch like fucking normal human beings?” 

“He actually has a point,” Mercedes said, pointing her fork at him and turning to Rachel. “You, hush.”

Rachel huffed and fell back into her chair, muttering bitterly to herself. 

“Okay, are we going to talk about the freaking ginormous elephant in the room?” Santana said, leaning forward on her elbows to look between Kurt and Blaine. “How long have you two been doing the nasty?”

Blaine spluttered next to him, coughing on the rabbit food he had been attempting to ingest.

Kurt, however, held Santana’s gaze, his lips quirking up slightly at the corners. “How long have you two been fucking?” he said, jerking his head between Santana and Brittany, a smug expression on his face.

Santana’s face darkened. “Alright then lady lips, I see how it is.” She pointed at him and swished her high ponytail. “That’s how you wanna play it then fine. You should know that while you’ve been having sweet sweet boy loving with eyebrows over here-“

“Kurt and I are just friends,” Blaine blurted out. “We have never had sex. Or anything. Okay? Never.  _Friends._  Two gay guys can just be friends as easily as a straight guy and a straight girl can. Got it?”

_Yep_ , Kurt thought to himself with a small shake of the head, _pretty impossible to_ not  _get that. Friends. Should have just spelt it out to make it that little bit clearer. I don’t think someone on the other side of the cafeteria got it. Yeah, you should definitely say it again. F-r-i-e-n-d-s._

“Now we’ve established that little gem of knowledge, thank you Blaine,” Rachel said, taking charge once again. “I do think it’s important that we consider our options for getting people interested in Glee.”

Kurt leant back in his chair and shut off his ears.  _Why the fuck did he let himself be dragged here?_

Blaine nudged him and leant over to whisper in his ear. “I’m really sorry about them. I don’t know why they think that we’re a thing.”

_Oh,_ Kurt thought as Blaine smiled apologetically at him from mere inches away _, that’s why._


	12. Chapter 12

Blaine tore his eyes from Kurt’s and glanced up around the table, recoiling back in his chair when he caught the angry glare of Quinn from opposite him. He blinked and peered around to see if there was a more likely candidate for her to be staring at. Shifting uncomfortably he looked for help from Kurt, but his blank stare was now fixed on the edge of the table in front of him as he fiddled distractedly with the long sleeves of his shirt. 

Blaine reluctantly returned his gaze to Quinn when he was sure she could only be looking at him. 

“What?” he mouthed.

She rolled her eyes and tapped the watch wrapped around her slender wrist. “Later.”

Blaine dipped his head in assent, mind already racing with possibilities of what he could have possibly done to upset her. To be honest, he was a little afraid of Quinn. They had spent time together, with lunch being a regular fixture together these days, but they hadn’t spent time _together._  Kurt had always been between them, and truth be told, Kurt and Quinn so rarely spoke to each other anyway that Blaine still had very little understanding of what she was about. Of course he had heard things on the grapevine, murmurings of great judgement and derision, but as with Kurt, he tried his utmost not to judge based on sourceless rumours. 

As lunch drew to a close, Kurt immediately scraped his chair back and got to his feet, muttering a quiet “see you later” to Blaine and striding out back towards the courtyard, already digging into his pockets for a cigarette.

Blaine jumped as a hand curled around his bicep. Quinn had appeared right next to him, a grim expression on her face.

“We’re going to have a little chat,” she said, and dragged him out of the cafeteria and into an empty classroom. She slammed the door and let him go.

“What?” he asked indignantly, rubbing over his arm.

Quinn folded her arms. “You’re seriously asking that?”

“Um, yes.”

She hopped up onto the teacher’s desk and gestured to a chair. “Sit.”

He sat.

“Kurt has stuck with me through so much crap when no one else has. Did you know I used to be a cheerio?”

“I … legitimately can’t imagine that,” he said faintly, wondering where on earth this was going.

“Well, you better believe it. In fact, I was head cheerio when I got knocked up. As soon as the news broke, everyone in this school pushed me away. Literally everyone. Apart from Kurt. We’ve never done the whole ‘heart-to-heart touchy feely’ kind of friendship but we’ve been there for each other when there was no-one else for either of us. That  _means_ something.”

Blaine nodded, feeling two feet tall even though he had no idea why.

“So you can be his friend, be his boyfriend,  _whatever_ ,” she continued. “As long it is good with him, fine. But  _do not fuck with him._  You must have gathered by now that he has been through shit, is  _still going through shit._ I will make you regret it if you make him go through even _more_ shit, capishe?”

Blaine nodded dumbly. “I, um-.” He cleared his throat quickly. “-Yes, I understand, and trust me I don’t want to hurt Kurt in any way, but I don’t know what I did.”

“You don’t-“ she broke off, shaking her head. “At that table in there you just acted as if the very idea of being with Kurt disgusted you. As if you could never be with him.”

“That wasn’t what I meant at all!” he said in surprise. 

“No?” Quinn asked. “What exactly did you mean, then?

“Well,” Blaine started unsurely. “He’s Kurt and…I’m me. We’re friends.”

“Yes. This is all correct so far,” Quinn said. “Do you have a point coming in the next few minutes or…?” 

Blaine turned his head away in frustration. “I said that because I thought  _he_  would be embarrassed that someone like him could even be put in the same sentence as someone like me.”

Quinn paused. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice softening.

“I mean Kurt is all-.“ He flailed his arms about. “ _Kurt-_ like _._ Allworldly and witty and edgy and beautiful and so so strong and then there’s me. A weirdo who likes bow ties and goofy dancing.”

Quinn looked unimpressed. “Has Kurt ever given you the impression that he doesn’t like your bow ties?”

“It’s never really come up,” Blaine said dryly. 

She shook her head in exasperation. “Anyway, my point is,” she pressed on. “That those things you listed don’t make one of you better than the other, just different. Though I think maybe you’re selling yourself a little short.” 

Blaine raised his eyebrows at her. “Was that a short joke? Really?”

“A happy accident,” she said, raising her hands in innocence. “I promise.”

“I’m sure,” he said suspiciously. “But where did this come from? Why are you saying this? Has Kurt said something about me?”

“Oh no no no no no,” Quinn said, holding out a hand to stop him. “Now you’re fishing.”

“No, I’m not, I promise. I just want to know why you’re telling me this.”

Quinn sighed. “Because I saw the look on his face when you insisted - a fucking billion times I might add - that you guys couldn’t possibly be more than friends. Kurt doesn’t show much emotion, but I could see it.”

Blaine squinted in confusion. “I saw how he looked. I didn’t see it. I have seen him upset, though. I know what that looks like. I went to his house yesterday and met his dad.”

“You did?” Quinn asked, her voice going up in surprise. “Rather you than me. Kurt’s dad can read people terrifyingly well. Apart from Kurt, ironically enough. But anyway, you get that that’s a big deal for him to take you to his house, right? This means you  _really_ can’t fuck it up. He’s trusting you.”

Blaine ran his teeth over his lower lip. “With what?”

Quinn scrutinised him, before speaking softly. “Himself.”

Blaine swallowed thickly against the weight that that responsibility brought. “So what do I do?”

“What do I look like, your fucking fairy godmother? Figure it out yourself.”

She jumped down from the desk and with a sly wink and pinch to his cheek she was gone.

 

*

 

Blaine pondered Quinn’s words throughout the rest of his classes that day. She had made it seem like maybe, just  _maybe_ , it was possible that Kurt didn’t find him 100% repulsive?. 

Probably more like 95 % not attracted. 

_Eh._ He could work with that. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he meandered slowly through the corridors to Glee Club.

_To: Kurt (3:47pm)  
_ _Hey :) I was just thinking…could I bring the car in to be fixed tomorrow? I could drop you off at your shift and then we could hang out while you fix it? Or something. If you want. B x_

Blaine read it through again.

Longwinded? Definitely.

Slightly creepy that he had memorised all of Kurt’s shifts? Undeniable.

And yet, hopefully, open and clear in his intentions of wanting to hang out with him.

_From: Kurt (3:50pm)  
_ _Okay. Meet at your car tomorrow after school._

 

_*_

 

They arrived at Blaine’s car at exactly the same time the following afternoon and drove across town in relative silence. But this time it felt more comfortable. Kurt wasn’t deliberately blocking him like last time. If anything, he was curled towards Blaine, fiddling with the tuning of the radio, apparently searching for a suitably ‘edgy’ and ‘hardcore’ channel. Blaine had his doubts as to whether such a channel existed in Lima. 

He pulled up into the parking lot at the garage. 

“Oh,” Kurt said, turning to Blaine as he put his hand on the door handle. “I forgot to ask yesterday - do you have a way of getting home?”

“I thought you just had to fix the…gasket, was it? Can’t you just whack a new one on?”

“Your foray into mechanics  _really_ wasn’t that successful was it?” Kurt said, with a quirk of an eyebrow. “No Blaine, you cannot just ‘whack on’ a new head gasket. It’s going to take quite a few hours. It’ll probably be at least a couple of days before you get it back.”

“Dammit,” Blaine muttered. “I guess I’ll have to call a cab or something to take me home.”

“You can’t just ask your parents?”

“No,” Blaine said, suppressing the bitter laugh that threatened to escape. “No, they’re away at the moment.”

“Shit.” Kurt ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I could ask dad if I can give you a lift home in his truck?”

Blaine smiled gratefully. “That would be fantastic, thank you.”

“That’s on the condition that he actually lets me drive it, though,” Kurt said. “He really fucking weird about his truck.”

“Well, if not I can always get a taxi no problem.” Blaine said, pulled the handle of the door open. “Right, shall we go in?”

They got out of the car, and Kurt walked around to meet Blaine on his side, holding out his hand expectantly to him.

Blaine stared at it.

Then up at Kurt. 

And back at his hand.

Kurt wiggled his fingers impatiently.

Blaine’s heart began to beat faster in his chest -  _was this it? Was this Kurt reaching out to him?_

He leant forward and took it, weaving his fingers through Kurt’s. He tried not to notice the way their fingers interlocked perfectly, seamlessly fitting together as though they were made to be this way.

“Um,” Kurt said, clearing his throat and staring down at their interwoven hands. “I was just after your keys.”

“Oh my God,” Blaine breathed, the blood rushing to his cheeks as he snatched his hand away. “Oh my God of course you were, I’m so sorry.”

He hung his head to hide his now burning face, rubbing his forehead with a clenched fist.  _Oh God._ He handed Kurt the keys and took a step back. 

“It’s fine,” Kurt said faintly. “I didn’t mi-“ he broke himself off and turned abruptly on his heel. “Let’s go in.”

Blaine stared after him _. What had just happened?_

“Are you coming?”

Blaine took a few deep breaths and jogged after him into the garage. Burt was chatting to a couple of frankly terrifying looking guys. He spotted them and made his way over to them, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “Hey buddy,” he said to Kurt. Kurt walked straight past him, heading towards what seemed to be the office.

“I’m going to get changed.”

Burt sighed and turned to Blaine, who was hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “Blaine, good to see ya again, kid.”

Blaine smiled politely at him. “You, too, Mr Hummel.”

“Burt. And you can come in, you know.”

“Right,” Blaine said, taking a few steps into the garage. “Sorry.”

Burt raised his eyebrows in amusement. “No need to be sorry.”

“No,” Blaine shook his head. “Right.”

Burt continued to wipe his hands on the dirty rag, undoubtedly just spreading the grime around on his hands rather than cleaning them. Blaine watched, unable to think of something to say.

He was  _really_ not doing very well today.

“So,” he said, drawing out the vowel. “How’s business going?”

Burt let out a surprised chuckle. “Not too bad at the moment, thanks for asking.”

Blaine nodded again, pressing his lips together. 

_Well, that topic dried up quickly._

Burt looked at him, tucked the rag into a pocket of his overalls and folded his arms across his chest. “You and Kurt talk about…stuff?”

“Um.” Blaine twisted his hands unsurely. “We talk. We’re friends.”

Burt nodded to himself. “Good, that’s good. He needs someone to talk to. God knows he won’t talk to me. Or even listen to anything I have to say.”

Blaine bit his lip. “If you don’t mind me saying, I think that maybe he needs time? I don’t know really what happened between you guys or any of that stuff, but when he’s ready, he’ll listen. I get the impression that you only just started trying to talk to him? You just need to keep trying.” Blaine slipped his hands in his pockets, shoulder hunched forwards. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping.”

“You are,” Burt said, almost yieldingly. 

Blaine was saved from having to respond by the reemergence of Kurt from the office. He strode across the garage towards them, pulling up his overalls as he went. Blaine couldn’t help but run his eyes up and down him as he almost strutted towards them. He looked like he belonged on a runway.

_But-_ , Blaine scrunched his eyes in confusion and rechecked what Kurt was wearing. For science, naturally. White v-neck, black skinny jeans and his usual Docs. Exactly what he had been wearing before. Or was this him just displaying his inferior fashion knowledge again?

“You changed from designer t-shirt and jeans to non-designer t-shirt and jeans?” he asked doubtfully.

Kurt quirked his head to the side. “Your point?”

“Nothing, no, no point,” Blaine said, holding up his hands. “Just checking.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. “Good.” He turned to Burt. “Blaine needs his car looking at. I said I’d do it.”

“Alright,” Burt replied with a nod. “You want any help?”

“No,” Kurt said shortly. “I think I can manage it on my own, thanks.”

“Just asking,” Burt sighed. “I’ll be working on this Buick if you need me.” He walked, back curved and defeated to the car he had been stood next to when they had arrived.

Blaine looked at Kurt. He was still watching Burt, a far-off and almost wistful expression in his eyes.  

“You don’t have to stay,” Kurt said, flicking his eyes to Blaine. “This will probably be really boring for you.”

Blaine shrugged and smiled over at him. “I wanted to hang out. Time spent with you could never be boring, anyway.”  Kurt rolled his eyes, but Blaine thought maybe he caught a hint of colour tinge his cheeks. But then, he’d read so many things wrongly today that he was probably just imagining it. “As long as I’m not annoying you.”

“I promise I’ll tell you to fuck off if you start getting annoying,” Kurt said with a small smile. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Blaine ducked his head a little bashfully. “I hope not.”

Kurt’s smile grew, and he gestured out to the parking lot. “I guess we should get your car then.”

They collected Blaine’s car and settled down for the afternoon. A stool was found for Blaine, and he sat next to the toolkit, occasionally passing a part to Kurt, but mostly talking - talking in a way he couldn’t remember talking to anyone before.

He talked about Dalton, he talked about the Warblers and Sebastian (trying to not think too much about the small frown that made its way across Kurt’s brow every time he mentioned the name) and didn’t just give him the happy, watered-down version he usually told people. Instead he told the real version, the version were he was lost and alone for so long before ever finding any kind of feeling of belonging at Dalton. The Warblers had given him a home and made him feel needed when no-one else had, even if sometimes it got a bit much.

And his dad had taken that all away in the blink of an eye. And for what? Because he couldn’t bear to see his son happy?

And Kurt really listened to everything he was saying. He offered little comment, but each time Blaine faltered, searching for words, Kurt would stop what he was doing and look at him, _really_  look at him, to show him that he was there and that he was listening. 

So few people actually listened to him.

The garage slowly emptied around them as they talked, but Blaine hardly noticed. He watched, entranced, as Kurt made his way around the car, disconnecting this and tightening that, so focused on the job at hand but always with an ear on Blaine. He got lost in the task, looking far more at ease with himself and the environment around him than Blaine had ever seen. 

He could sense Burt watching them as well, but dutifully paid him no attention. He knew that as soon as Kurt became aware of that he would clam up, and Blaine was relishing far too much in the occasional flash of Kurt’s real grin to make him aware of their spectator.

Eventually, Burt made his way over to them. “Boys, I’m closing up for the night. Blaine - is someone coming to pick you up?”

“No,” Blaine said quietly, glancing at Kurt. “I could call a cab…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kurt said quickly. “Dad, can we give him a lift home?”

“Sure,” Burt said, looking between them. “No problem.”

Kurt gave a jerky nod of thanks at Burt and set about clearing up all the tools. Burt smiled, his eyes slightly wide in surprise as Kurt retreated back into the office. 


	13. Chapter 13

_From:_ _Blaine (8.24 pm)  
_ _I had a really good time today! Thanks for tolerating my babbling, and for managing to not look completely bored out of your mind :P. B x_

_From: Kurt  
That’s because I wasn’t._

_From: Kurt  
Bored out of my mind, I mean._

_From: Blaine  
:D._

_From: Kurt  
Do I *look* like the kind of person who condones the use of emoticons?_

_From: Blaine  
I don’t like to judge a book by its cover. Even if the cover is extremely distracting._

_From: Kurt  
…Glad to hear it. I think._

_From: Blaine  
XD._

_From: Kurt  
Okay, no. Emoticons are not to be used in lieu of a lexical response, Blaine. We are communicating via ‘text messaging’. The clue’s in the name. _

_From: Blaine  
You used ‘in lieu’ and ‘lexical’ in a text. A single text._

_From: Kurt  
Yes. Yes I did. Correct._

_From: Blaine  
Very few people could get away with “in lieu” in a text. _

_From: Kurt  
Lucky I’m one of those people then, isn’t it?_

_From: Blaine  
It really is._

_From: Kurt  
If I used emoticons this is where I would use a smiley face. But I don’t, and I refuse to start. So you’ll just have to imagine it. _

_From:_ _Blaine  
But you want to and that’s the first step :P. It’s a slippery slope from here, Kurt. Soon you’ll be lol-ing and omg-ing with the rest of us._

“You talking to Blaine?” came a gruff voice from the doorway. Kurt didn’t lift his gaze from the screen of his phone. “We only dropped him off an hour ago.”

Kurt shrugged.

_From: Kurt  
Oh, the horror. Unfortunately my father just has decided to grace me with his presence. Ttyl, K._

He locked his phone with a twitch of a finger on the top and clutched it tightly in his hand. “…Do you want something, or are you just going to stand there?”

Burt nodded and moved into the room, glancing around for somewhere to sit. Kurt was occupying his usual seat of the desk chair, so he perched on the edge of the bed, surprisingly tentative for one usually so sure of himself. “I wanted to ask Carole on a date on Saturday night.”

Kurt’s stomach dropped, even as he jutted out his chin defiantly and worked his voice to sound as bored as he could. “I literally cannot stress the level of my apathy strongly enough.

“That’s just the thing,” Burt said, folding his hands calmly in his lap. “Because I want to bring you into it. I feel like this, this  _thing_ me and Carole have is going somewhere –”

“You got a destination in mind?” Kurt interrupted, narrowing his eyes challengingly at his father.

Burt held his gaze. “Yes, actually. I really think we could be a family one day.”

Kurt snorted, dropping his eyes to the floor in front of his feet. “You, me, Carole and Finn, a family?” he said, allowing the disdain to drip thickly from each word. “Dream on.”

Burt sighed, shifting his weight slightly on the bed. His gaze fell on the photo on Kurt’s nightstand. “I think it’s really important that we sit down and talk about this. About Carole, about your mom.”

“Don’t you  _dare_ put those two in the same sentence,” Kurt snarled, hackles immediately rising. “Don’t you dare.”

“Kurt, I loved your mom with all my heart. Still do, in fact,” Burt said with a sad smile. “It’s just I really think I could love Carole, too. And that’s the thing -  _too._ There’s not a limit on the amount of love a person has to give. It’s possible… I think it’s possible to have that kind of feeling for more than one person.”

Kurt bit hard into the inside of his cheek, squeezing his hands together in his lap until his knuckles showed up painfully white against his dark jeans. “Well shit,” he said harshly. “That just about clears everything up. You’ve solved everything now. Right, let’s go find Carole and Finn and skip off into the sunset holding hands. I never realised it was that simple. What a fucking idiot I am.” 

He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the desk with shaking hands. “I’m going outside. Don’t follow me.”

Feeling the heavy weight of his father’s eyes on him, he stormed out and down the stairs, lighting a cigarette before he was even out of the back door. He collapsed on the top step of the stairs leading down to the lawn, not even bothering to bring the smouldering cigarette to his lips as he concentrated on regulating his heaving breaths. 

He battled with every intake of air, struggling to push aside the anger and sadness that seemed so desperate to overwhelm him and take control of his very being. He had gone so far, he could keep going. He would not be beaten.

Eventually, many cigarettes later, he heard the soft creaking of the door behind him. Burt walked slowly over the deck towards him and lowered himself to sit next to him on the steps. Neither spoke a word, they simply sat, side by side, staring out into the yawning darkness. Kurt curled up as tight as he could.

He realised that it must have been the longest they had sat together in years without them falling into some kind of argument.

“It’s been four years, Kurt,” Burt said quietly, his breath puffing out into the cold air. “You can’t keep running away from this conversation. I’m not saying there’s a time scale on this sorta stuff, I’m just saying that I’m at the point where I need to move on with my life. I been living in limbo for such a long time, it took me meeting Carole to realise that what we’ve been doing is  _not_  living.”

Kurt sniffed and ran a frustrated hand under his nose. “You’re making her out to be this fucking saint,” he said. “You need to know she’s not like that. ”

Burt turned to look at him. “How would you know?”

“Because she bitched behind your back to Finn about me,” Kurt said with as flippant a wave of his hand as he could muster. “About that dinner we had.”

Burt only sighed. “She was actually talking to me on the phone. That’s how Finn heard. But he shouldn’t have said anything.”

Kurt angrily blinked away at the heat building behind his eyes. “But clearly it’s fine for you to discuss me behind my back.”

“Bud, I’m sorry,” Burt reached forward to lay a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She was upset and I was trying to explain to her that you have had a tough time of it lately. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“A tough time of it?” Kurt repeated hollowly, resting his chin on his knees. “Sure.”

Burt kept his hand a steady pressure on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt couldn’t help but feel that it added to the pressure building within him, the pressure to just give in. He gritted his teeth and flinched away from his father’s touch. 

“I think about Lizzie everyday,” Burt said softly. Kurt didn’t move, his whole body tensing in anticipation, muscles taut and twitching as he itched to just get up and  _go_ somewhere. Anywhere. 

But he couldn’t.

“I don’t see how I couldn’t,” his father continued, watching him carefully. “I still can’t bring myself to sleep on her side of the bed. If I’m getting up early to go to the garage I sometimes make her a cup of tea. She used to have it in bed after I left while she waited for you to wake up. Other people remember on the big days, those big events when we’re supposed to be a family - birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving. And of  _course_  they hurt. But it’s the little things that hurt me most, y’know? When I look into the kitchen and half-see her there makin’ some fancy cake. And then I have to remind myself again that she’s gone.” His father broke off with an awkward chuckle, ducking his head. 

Kurt kept his head down, staring expressionlessly at his hands. He let the words wash over him, not allowing them to linger long enough so that they might permeate through his skin.

“Kurt, bud, you’ve gotta realise that you’re not alone in this pain you’re feeling,” he went on. “And I get that we Hummel men aren’t good about talking about our feelings. But you need to know that you can. When you’re ready, that is. I think maybe Blaine was right about that.”

Kurt’s head snapped up at the mention of Blaine.

“Don’t freak out,” Burt said quickly. “He didn’t say anything about you. I asked him a question and he answered. I think you’re lucky to have found someone like him.”

“Lucky enough to find someone willing to put up with all my shit,” Kurt said bitterly, his throat thick. “I guess that’s a  _burden_  I can’t expect from most people.”

Burt sighed. “That’s not what I said at all. You’ve gotta stop hearing what you want to hear and actually  _listen_  to what I’m saying.”

Kurt didn’t respond, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He was too tired to move, or to even lift his head. He dragged his nails over the grain of the deck again and again, savouring the roughness of the wood on his fingers. 

Burt leant over again and rested his hand on Kurt’s back. Kurt sat rigid, refusing to sink back into the touch. “On Saturday night, can you please have someone over while I’m out? I don’t want you to be on your own. Quinn, Blaine, or anyone else from school. You know where I am if you want to talk.”

The hand disappeared and Kurt was surprised at how much he noticed the absence of the warm body next to him. He shook his head forcefully in an attempt to clear it.

Everyone was moving on with their lives but here he was, coordinates the same for the past four years. Quinn was miraculously healed of the internal bitterness that had thrown them together in the first place, and now his father was suddenly just ‘moving on’.

And there it was. Left behind. 

Again.

 

*

 

Blaine checked the clock on the dash one more time, praying that somehow it had stepped forward an hour or so. Or, maybe, he had misread it - a 5 looks just like a 6, right?

He frowned in displeasure as  _5.12 pm_ blinked insolently back at him. The  _one_ time he needed time to be on his side, it just kept on trucking slow as ever, second by agonising second. Resting his head against the steering wheel with a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he was over an hour early. Maybe factoring in that extra hour for traffic had been just a little excessive.

He glanced up at the house in front of him. There were still no signs of life; no cars in the driveway and no movement from behind the rapidly darkening windows. 

This was getting ridiculous, and sliding into new creepy territory, even for him. He picked up the tin from the passenger seat and climbed from the car. He walked purposefully over to the front door and rang the doorbell immediately. What was the big deal, anyway? He was just here to hang out with his friend. Like normal people did. It would be fine. It didn’t matter that this ‘friend’ was  _Kurt_ \- incredibly quick and witty and so, well, hot.. Not. At. All.

Blaine jumped as the door opened without warning. “Oh God,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest in shock. “Are you some kind of ninja or some…” he trailed off as he took in the sight in front of him.

Kurt was…sweaty. And flushed. And rumpled. And  _holy mother of God so much skin._ His grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, the hemline of his black undershirt not quite reaching it to leave exposed a slither of pale skin. He was propping the door open with a (gloriously defined) arm, eyes wide and apparently just as shocked as Blaine.

“You’re early.”

“What?” Blaine blinked, tearing his eyes away from the sheen on what he could see of Kurt’s chest. “I-, sorry what?”

“You’re really early,” Kurt said, wrapping his other arm around his body. “I was just about to take a shower.” He rocked onto the outside of his bare feet, scrunching his toes in towards him. 

“I had…traffic issues. Or I guess lack thereof,” Blaine said lamely. “Sorry. I could go and sit in the car or something. Um. Sorry.” He took a step back from the house.

Kurt reached forward and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t be stupid. Come in.” He was dragged unceremoniously through the door.

Kurt kept his wrist in a loose grip, his hands slightly damp and clammy with sweat. Blaine found he didn’t really mind it at all. “Do you mind if I go take a shower quickly? I’m really gross.” Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You want to watch TV or something while you wait? My dad already left for his date-“ he grimaced. “-So don’t worry about him randomly turning up or anything.”

Blaine smiled a little tentatively and held out the tin. “Sure. I made these for you.”

Kurt flicked his eyes between Blaine and the tin of cookies, his lips parting in surprise. He took the tin awkwardly in his free hand and manoeuvred the lid off, apologetically pulling his hand away from Blaine’s wrist as he peering in to look at the contents.  “You made me cookies?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I made you cookies,” Blaine said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I love cookies,” Kurt said, slightly breathlessly. “Thank you.” The honest gratitude in Kurt’s voice sent a bloomed warmth through Blaine’s chest

“They’re usually a safe bet. I was going to make muffins but I wasn’t sure what your feelings would be vis-à-vis the blueberry/chocolate debate so I decided to just go with the cookies.”

“Oh, always chocolate,” Kurt said without hesitation. “I don’t even see how there could be a debate.”

Blaine grinned. “Duly noted.”

They smiled at each other until Kurt ducked his head, the pink tinge in his cheeks still present, whether from…whatever it was that made him so unkempt in the first place  _(don’t even go there, Blaine)_ or from  _him_ he wasn’t sure. 

“So,” Kurt said, gesturing to the stairs. “I’m gonna go. You should…make yourself comfortable.”

Blaine nodded and ducked into the living room as Kurt bounded up the stairs two at a time. He set the tin of cookies on the coffee table and collapsed back onto the couch to watch mindless TV.

Eventually he heard the soft padding of Kurt on the stairs and he appeared moments later in the doorway. His cheeks were still flushed from the shower, but his hair had been perfectly coiffed and styled in the same effortless way Blaine had become so accustomed to over the weeks. He was back in his regular (or not so regular, as Kurt would point out) skinny jeans and grey v-neck.

After a few moments of polite “What do you want to do?” “I don’t mind what do  _you_ want to do?” back and forth they decided to make some food and just watch a movie. Kurt seemed to be very averse to ordering in, so they spent a few minutes poring over cook books at the counter in the kitchen, shoulders pressed together. Kurt nudged him excitedly when he found a recipe he liked, grabbing hold of his arm and squeezing before letting go to check if they had the necessary ingredients. The proximity and closeness and aloneness doing no great thing for Blaine’s heart rate: every touch, every lingering meeting of eyes sending it escalating up until Blaine had to take a step back to just breathe. 

They made dinner together in comfortable domesticity. Blaine hummed snatches of tunes and twirled around the kitchen happily as Kurt ordered him around, fetching ingredients and implements as instructed. Kurt was confident in the kitchen, sure of himself and actually seemed to be enjoying having Blaine there. Even if it was as simple as that Blaine was just a good sous-chef, it was a privilege to watch. Kurt’s face was relaxed, his eyes alive and twinkling as they caught Blaine’s. It was captivating.

Much to Blaine’s relief, they ate in front of the TV; dinner for two at a table for two in the quiet house felt like too much pressure. And it wasn’t like the conversation ever really stopped as they sat side by side on the couch, thighs occasionally grazing as they leant over to get their drinks from the coffee table.

The extent and diversity of Kurt’s DVD collection surprised Blaine. A mixture of classics and modern rom-coms, action films and musicals. Kurt mumbled something about ‘gifts’ and ‘most of them aren’t even mine’ but Blaine wasn’t convinced. He caught sight of one, and his brow furrowed in confusion. He held it up at Kurt, his head tilted to one side in a question.

Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“You have a DVD of Wicked.”

“You like pointing out the obvious, don’t you?” Kurt said dryly.

Blaine looked at the cover again. “But there isn’t a DVD of Wicked.”

Kurt waved his hand dismissively. “The object in your hand would beg to differ.”

“No.” Blaine shook his head. “You know what I mean. Is this the original Broadway cast?”

Kurt snorted incredulously. “Of course.”

“You have a bootleg of Wicked, and you made a cover. That looks incredibly professional.”

Kurt nodded shortly, as if Blaine shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“But,” Blaine floundered. “I thought you didn’t like musicals.”

Kurt shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but Blaine could see the tension rising in shoulders and the beginnings of clenching in his jaw. “I never said that.”

Blaine screwed his eyes together, trying to think back to what Kurt had said all those weeks ago. So much had changed since then

“Oh,” Kurt said amiably. “If you tell anyone that I will steal all your bowties and hide them until you deny everything.”

Blaine recoiled in horror. “You wouldn’t!”

Kurt nodded seriously, looking him dead in the eye. “Oh, I would.”

Blaine leant back, blinking in shock. He hadn’t put Kurt down as-, as a _potential_   _bow tie stealer._ This changed _everything_.

“Blaine,” Kurt said gently, reaching over to place his hand over Blaine’s. “I was joking.”

Blaine let out a quick huff of air, absently turning his hand over and twining their fingers together. “You should never joke about bow ties.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I do like them, though.” Kurt reached forward and tweaked the bow tie around his neck affectionately. Blaine’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. Kurt quickly pulled his hand back as he realised what he had done. He ran the hand through his hair and turned back to the TV with a cough. “Just, um, pick a movie.”

Blaine nodded jerkily, grabbing and putting on  _Singin’ in the Rain_  quickly before settling back on the sofa, a safe distance from Kurt.

They watched at first in silence, letting the film wash over them, and gradually  _Singin’ in the Rain_ worked its magic once more. Blaine sighed happily as Don tapped and crooned his way into Kathy’s heart, mouthing along to all the words. He thought he might have heard Kurt humming along next to him, but every time he tried to send a surreptitious glance at him he fell silent.

“I love Gene Kelly so much,” he murmured, not taking his eyes from the screen as Don sidled around a step ladder.

“No shit,” Kurt said, sending him a fleeting grin. “I would have never guessed.”

Blaine smoothed a hand over his hair self-consciously. 

“I see it,” Kurt said with a small shrug, turning to meet Blaine’s eyes. “He’s got a certain something, I guess.”

Blaine tried in vain to moderate the size of his grin, pressing back against the couch cushions in barely suppressed glee. 

 

*

 

Kurt woke just as a door clicked shut upstairs. He blinked blearily in the darkness. He was warm. So perfectly warm and comfortable that he never wanted to move. He shifted his arm slightly, and felt the weight of a blanket move with him. Too tired to even question how that had got there he wiggled back down into his cocoon of warmth with a soft sigh of contentment, rubbing his face sleepily against the soft cotton shirt that seemed to be acting as his pillow. His head rose up and down, soothing him gently back to sleep. The pillow twitched against him and snuffled gently in its sleep.

Kurt froze, his eyes snapping open.

_Blaine._

He was pressed into his side, apparently having shuffled down on the sofa to rest his head on Blaine’s  _(broad, strong)_ chest. Their hands, his right and Blaine’s left, were intertwined and resting on Blaine’s stomach.

He lifted his head fractionally to look down at Blaine. His face was peaceful, his hair falling forward out of the confines of the gel. He was still wearing his bow tie. Kurt reached up slowly with his free hand and pulled it loose, smoothing it to hang flat over Blaine’s shirt. He twisted the top button undone, watching the tiny bob of Blaine’s Adam’s apple. With a tiny shake of his head, Kurt settled back on Blaine’s chest, tightening his hold on the hand and snuggling down further under the blanket and into Blaine’s side.

He could claim ignorance of his actions in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

Kurt woke slowly the next morning, awareness rippling through his body little by little, limb by heavy limb. First he felt the chill of his foot which had slipped out from beneath the blanket. Then the weight on his leg where it had become tangled and trapped underneath Blaine’s. And then… No… Yes, then the tiny circles being soothed almost unconsciously into the palm of his hand. And once he was fully awake, the undulations of Blaine’s chest below him. He could feel each little exhale, every calm and measured breath, and if he looked close enough, he could see the small puffs of warm air as they teased into Blaine’s curly bed-head.

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, Kurt tried to control the wide smile tugging at his lips, pressing his face back into Blaine’s chest with a small shake of his head. He had no idea how they’d ended up so wound up around one another, but he had absolutely no intention of bringing it to a close. He tucked his foot back under the blanket, his tummy swooping as the arch ran over the smooth skin of the top of Blaine’s foot. He felt a hitch in Blaine’s breathing and jerked his head up. Staring straight back at him were a pair of huge, similarly shocked eyes. 

Blaine was awake.

Kurt jumped back, scrambling to disentangle himself from Blaine as he curled fully in on himself in the corner of the sofa. Blaine blinked back at him. 

Kurt opened his mouth but slowly closed it again, swallowing anxiously. They stared at each other.

The corners of Blaine’s mouth tipped upwards as his head tilted to the side, gaze still boring into Kurt’s. Kurt couldn’t help but twitch a small smile in response, twisting his hands together in his lap. 

Blaine ducked his head, his smile rapidly stretching into a grin. Kurt’s heart picked up speed in his chest. That was because of  _him._

“Um,” Blaine said, heavy with sleep as he rubbed the back of his head, grimacing when he came upon now well-matted gel. “I guess we fell asleep.”

Kurt eyed the hair now sticking up wildly on the top of his head with amusement. “Captain Obvious strikes again.”

Blaine looked up at Kurt through his lashes, wide grin still firmly on his face. “I’m sorry, I’m still half asleep. That was, well, that was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while.” 

“Me too.” Kurt smiled shyly across at him. “I always get really cold when I sleep. You’re like a fucking radiator.”

Blaine gave a small tip to an imaginary hat. “Pleasure to be of service.”

Kurt barely resisted the urge to bury his surely embarrassingly wide grin into a cushion, a bubble of what could only be described as  _giddiness_ rising within him.  _What the fuck was wrong with him_?

He needed to move. Yes, that was what needed to happen. Clear his head. Or something.

“Do you want some breakfast?” he asked, pushing himself up off the sofa and reaching his hand out to Blaine to pull him up.

Blaine eyed the hand, eyebrows furrowed seriously. “Do you want my keys or is there something else…?”

Kurt let out a surprised laugh and held out his other hand in defense. “No no, this is me offering to help you up.”

“Well then,” Blaine said with an exaggerated sigh, reaching forward to grasp Kurt’s hand and tug himself up. “Up we go.” He nearly face-planted into the coffee table as the blanket got caught up between his legs but righted himself just in time to unwind the offending fabric, muttering darkly under his breath, “I’m fine, I’m fine,  _stupid-._ It’s fine, nobody panic.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. “I was all of a flutter,” he said dryly. “Thanks for calming me down and saving me from that potential disaster.”

Blaine shot him what Kurt thought was probably supposed to be a withering look. He just looked a little confused. Kurt rolled his eyes, leading Blaine out of the sitting room and through to the kitchen with a pull of their hands. And if he forgot to let go of Blaine’s hand on the way? _Well_ , he thought,  _he couldn’t be blamed for anything that happens before his first coffee._

Kurt answered the luring call of the coffee machine, reluctantly dropping Blaine’s hand as he padded across the cool tiled floor with bare feet. 

There was a sharp rustling from the other side of the room. Kurt whipped around to see Burt sitting side-on to the kitchen table, legs thrown out in front of him with ankles crossed, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the sports pages in the other. He took a casual sip of his drink and turned the page. “Morning, boys.”

Kurt’s hands clenched by his side. Just when everything had been going so well.  _Fucking typical._

He really should have known that something would ruin it, and _of course_ that ‘something’ would be his fucking father. Because when was it not?

He forced his hands to relax, stretching out his fingers one by one. Blaine cleared his throat next to him. Kurt could see a flush rising from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. Kurt turned away from them both and slumped against the counter to watch the coffee drip drip drip oh so  _fucking_  slowly into the mug. 

“Good morning, Mr Hummel,” Blaine squeaked.

“I told ya, it’s Burt,” Burt said, straightening the paper. “I figure if you’re gonna be spending the night wrapped around my kid we should be on first name basis.”

“I-.” If it was possible Blaine went even more red. “I’m sorry we just fell asleep there I wasn’t actually planning on staying the night it was just going to be a movie night and then we started watching re-runs of The Bachelor and after a certain amount of time it really does start to act like a extraordinarily strong sedative and-“

“Whoa,” Burt said, holding up his hand to stop him. “Kid, I was just messin’ with you.”

“Yeah it was really fucking funny,” Kurt snapped, glaring viciously at the coffee machine. The words fell dully; the sounds swallowed as quickly as they were spoken. No-one replied. All that could be heard was the crackle and fizz of the coffee machine, the steady beat of the drops descending into a chaotic stream. Kurt glanced up to see a slight frown form over Blaine’s face and Burt looking…disappointed? He looked back at the machine in front of him quickly. “Fucking ridiculous.”

Burt sighed and lowered his eyes to his paper.

Kurt watched the mug slowly fill, breathing in the calming scent of the coffee beans. He became aware of Blaine, still standing in middle of the room next to the island, nervously biting on his lower lip and rocking up onto the balls of his feet. Kurt sighed and asked with a slightly softer voice, “What do you want for breakfast?”

Blaine just pressed his lips together with a tiny shrug. “Whatever you’re having is good.”

“Coffee is literally my breakfast most days.”

“That’s fine for me, then.”

“Blaine,” he said flatly. “Stop being polite and tell me what you want.”

Blaine glanced across at Burt, who was determinately reading his paper, and then back at Kurt. Kurt rotated his hand in the air impatiently at him. 

“Um,” Blaine said. “I guess fruit? If you have any. It’s not a big deal-“ he petered off as Kurt walked to the fridge, digging around for something vaguely healthy to serve Blaine. 

Kurt clattered around the kitchen, not making any sort of eye contact with anyone. A familiar anger was simmering low in his stomach, forcing him to grit his teeth and lock his jaw. 

How had everything been ruined so quickly?

Stomach churning, he presented Blaine with the best variety of fruit he could gather together, grabbed his coffee and marched from the room, beckoning for Blaine to follow him as he went. He paused by the living room door. Blaine nearly crashed into him from behind.

“I’m going to take this outside and have a cigarette,” he muttered, gesturing to his coffee. “You can watch TV or something. Whatever you want.” He took a step back, chewing his bottom lip in hesitation. “You know where I am.” He sent Blaine a flicker of a smile and turned on his heel, unlocking the front door and stepping out into the frigid November morning. 

The door didn’t slam shut behind him. It bounced, loudly, and Kurt turned back to see a foot jammed between the door and the frame. Blaine slowly came into view, a hopeful smile on his face as he pulled open the door, plate of food held precariously in one hand. 

Kurt turned to face the street, lowering down onto the topmost step. It was quiet, as was to be expected early on a Sunday morning, but somehow muffled, as if the snow forecast for the next week had already arrived. Blaine sat next to him, balancing the plate on his lap as he hunched over in the cold. 

Blaine didn’t say anything for a while, chewing thoughtfully, patiently, next to him. Kurt sipped on his coffee and dragged on his cigarette, slowly, slowly, coming back to himself. Back to how he was first thing this morning.

“Better?”

Kurt jumped a little at the sudden question. Blaine was looking at him with a mixture of concern and teasing.

“Sorry,” Kurt sighed. “I need my coffee to make me a vaguely reasonable human being.”

Blaine paused for a moment, ducking his head to look at his knees with apprehension. “There didn’t seem to be a problem before we went into the kitchen.”

Kurt gripped the mug tighter, his fingers pressing together over the now cool china. “Yeah, well.”

Blaine looked at him, blinking slowly, his long lashes fanning out and catching on his lower eyelid. “You’re different with him, with your dad.”

Kurt took a sharp intake of breath at the bluntness of the statement, bringing a hand up to his hair and grimacing when he felt how flat and limp it was lying over his head. He scanned Blaine’s face intensely, looking for any sign of accusation or judgment. But all he saw was genuine curiosity and concern in those deep amber eyes. “I’m not different with him, _”_ he said eventually. “I’m different with you.”

Blaine’s lips parted softly in surprise, a slow, shy smile unfurling across his face. Kurt’s chest swelled and he returned the smile tentatively, the corners of his mouth twitching skywards. He took a shaky breath and put down the coffee mug, standing up and dusting off his thoroughly crumpled jeans. Blaine  looked up at him in question. Kurt bit the inside of his cheek and stuck out his hand to Blaine. Blaine didn’t hesitate for a second, reaching up to take it. Kurt’s smile relaxed. “I want to show you something.” 

He let them back into the house and up the stairs, his heart beating faster in his chest the closer he got to his bedroom door. He slowed, coming to a rest on the threshold, and glanced back at Blaine. Blaine smiled reassuringly up at him, giving his hand a long firm squeeze. The movement spread through the rest of Kurt’s body like he had just stepped out into the warm spring sun, working through to his very bones, loosening and releasing such a deep set and long forgotten about tension from the inside out. It just felt right; fingers curled around Blaine’s, palms pressing tightly together. 

He went straight over to the bed, tugging at Blaine who had lagged behind, looking around him in wonder. Kurt rolled his eyes left him to it, settling himself in the middle of his bed and fidgeting nervously with his hands in his lap. They felt empty.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Blaine said, trailing a hand over the spines of the many books Kurt had out on display on the shelves.

“Some kind of a lair, perhaps?” Kurt attempted to joke. “Or maybe a cavern dedicated to Satan?”

“No, that’s not it,” Blaine said absently, deep in thought. “I don’t know exactly what I was but this…” he smiled as he tilted his head to read the title of a CD. “…this is perfect. This is just  _you_.”

Kurt almost sagged with relief. Blaine could see it. Blaine could see  _him_.

There really wasn’t anything special about his room. It was, as Blaine had said, just him. Vogue magazines stacked as high as the old vinyl records, a snow globe of New York next to a small box filled with leather cuffs, a portrait of him and Quinn in the mirror after he had done her hair for the first time next to a picture of his mom laughing on a swing. 

Blaine picked up the snow globe and shook it gently. The glitter raining down on New York reflected in Blaine’s eyes so that they sparkled and shone even brighter than usual. Blaine glanced up at him and walked over to the bed to perch hesitantly on the edge. “You wanted to show me something?”

Kurt dipped his chin in assent and reached over to open the top drawer of the nightstand, bringing out the small photo album. He opened it to the first page. It was a picture of the three of them, Kurt aged ten and beaming ear to ear was wedged between the pair of them on same very sofa he and Blaine had slept on last night. He ran a finger down the edge of the page. It had been taken when they had just finished the redecoration of the room, Kurt’s mom had a small patch of paint across her cheek, Kurt a dab at the end of his nose where she had bopped it playfully. His mom was wearing one of Burt’s old shirts tied loosely around her waist, Kurt was dressed in similar old and baggy clothes, and Burt looked no different from usual in his cap and plaid shirt. 

Kurt hesitated for a moment then handed the album over to Blaine. Blaine cradled it carefully in his hands, as if he was afraid of breaking it.

“So that’s my mom,” Kurt said, nodding down at the photo, swallowing in the lump in his throat. “You probably guessed, or maybe not, because you’re, you know, _you_ , but, well, she died four years ago.”

Blaine looked at him with impossibly sad eyes but didn’t say anything, for which Kurt was grateful, lowering his eyes to run softly over the photo again and again, an almost reverent look on his face.

“She’s gorgeous,” Blaine said, looking up at Kurt with a gentle smile. “She looks just like you.” 

“Everyone says that,” Kurt said with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t see it.”

“Just trust me,” Blaine said softly. “It’s there.”

Kurt nodded infinitesimally and settled his elbow of his knee, watching as Blaine worked through the book in silence, occasionally asking who someone was or where they were in that photo. Kurt relaxed as Blaine stayed away from asking  _those_ questions, the one’s that most people just couldn’t help but ask. 

Blaine reached the end of the album and handed it back to him with a smile. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Kurt made a face at him. “So formal.”

“Dalton,” Blaine reminded him with a wink.

Kurt scoffed, leaning back against the headboard. “I was hoping I’d wheedled some of that out of you by now.”

Blaine sniffed. “The world has lost too much politeness. I’m just doing my bit to restore proper etiquette and manners to America.”

“I think that might be a one man mission,” Kurt said dryly. 

“It only takes one man.”

“You’re totally envisioning yourself as the next Martin Luther King aren’t you?”

Blaine sat a little straighter. “Maybe not quite Martin Luther King. Maybe I’m more of a mini Barbara Walters.”

Kurt snorted. “Let me know how that goes for you.”

“Oh, I will.” Blaine grinned, looking around the room again. He picked up the snow globe from where he had left it on the bed next to him and got up, putting it carefully back exactly where he had found it. His hand drifted to the box of leather cuffs next to it. Kurt had collected many over the years, from all manner of different places so that they all represented a different emotion, a different feeling within him. He watched warily as Blaine picked through them.

“When did you become all ‘badass’?” Blaine said, turning to him. “Like, in those photos you’re wearing all these vibrant crazy clothes.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Did you expect me to come out of the womb clad in a leather jacket and skinny jeans, a cigarette clenched in my teeny tiny fist?”

“No! No, just, Rachel said that in freshman year you were still like t _his-“_ he gestured to the photos. “Not to say I don’t like it but what changed?”

Kurt fixed him with an icy stare. ‘ _What changed?’ Seriously?_  

“Just because your style hasn’t changed since you were five doesn’t mean everyone else’s hasn’t.”

Blaine drew back at the venom in Kurt’s words. “I-, wow. Okay. I thought-. Never mind.” Blaine pressed his lips together into a tight smile, arms crossing defensively across his body and he got to his feet. “I should probably go,” he muttered, reaching with one hand to rub the back of his neck. “Thank you for having me.”

A ball of fear wormed its way into the base of Kurt’s stomach as Blaine started towards the door.  _Don’t screw this up._

“I don’t want you to go,” he said quietly.

Blaine turned back to face him, an incredulous expression on his face. “Well maybe you shouldn’t have insulted me, then.”

Kurt sat up stiffly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just-, am really fucking bad at talking about this stuff. It was a really big deal for me to talk about my mom with you.”

“I know,” Blaine said, eyes softening. “And it means so much to me that you did. Just, how about next time you don’t want to talk about something you tell me just that, and not insult me?”

Kurt ran a shaky hand over his forehead. “Yes. Good. I will do that. Sorry. I really do like the way you dress.” He sent Blaine a hopeful smile.

Blaine relaxed into a grin. “Thank you. Although I probably should actually go.”

“Oh,” he said, not managing to quell the thought that  _yet again_  he had scared someone off. He wiggled forward and got to his feet, hovering awkwardly next to Blaine. 

Blaine smiled up at him, completely back at ease. Kurt wished he had the same bounce-back ability. He still felt jittery, nervous tension thrumming through him.

“I look forward to the next movie night,” Blaine said with a bashful smile. “Maybe we can watch Wicked and I can find out just how much of a Broadway-buff you are.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I get the feeling that you know a lot more about it than you like to give off.”

“Do you now?” he smirked. “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Blaine grinned again. “I guess we will. So, until next time.” 

Kurt nodded, expecting Blaine to go. But he didn’t move. They stood in front of each other, avoiding each other’s gaze, smiling nervously when they caught it by accident. Kurt shuffled his weight between his feet.  _Do something do something do something do something please do something._

Blaine eventually rolled his eyes and reached forward, slipping his arms around Kurt’s waist and pulling him in. Kurt stiffened, arms hanging limply by his side. Blaine tucked his chin up on Kurt’s shoulder, squeezing him gently, coaxing him. 

Kurt held his posture for a moment longer, but Blaine seemed to sense his reluctance and sighed, digging his fingers into Kurt’s back and tugging him in. Kurt could feel the heavy beat of Blaine’s heart in his chest, the warmth radiating from him just like the night before and before he knew it he slumped forward into the embrace, arms coming up to cling around Blaine’s neck. He leant his head against Blaine’s and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.


	15. Chapter 15

Now that Blaine had reached out to Kurt, felt his body against his, it had become impossible to keep control of the urge, the  _need,_ to always be touching him - a small squeeze of the hand in thanks, a pat on the knee in parting, a hug in greeting - Blaine couldn’t stop himself. And Kurt still seemed surprised every time Blaine did try and initiate physical contact, as if disbelieving in the fact that Blaine  _still_ wanted to be there with him. Kurt would stiffen as soon as he touched him, his body a tangled knot of tense muscles under Blaine’s steady hand. Blaine only wished he knew how to make him more relaxed with him.

But then yesterday,  _Kurt_ had hugged  _him_. He had wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck and tucked his face there, just for a second, sending such a pleasant swoop through Blaine’s tummy that he hadn’t been able to remember what he was supposed to do his hands before Kurt had pulled away and began walking up to school. Blaine had stood, rooted to the spot and blinking rapidly after him. Kurt had noticed Blaine wasn’t next to him and turned back to face him, a small smile on his face as he beckoned to him with a small jerk of the head and a wiggle of the fingers. Blaine’s heart sped up just thinking about it, an irrepressible grin forming on his face. He had no idea if Kurt had even realised that he had done it; it had just felt no natural, so right. Kurt was trusting him enough to allow him to be close. He told him stuff. He helped him out. And it hadn’t escaped Blaine’s notice that Kurt didn’t grant these honours to everyone. Maybe even he was the only one. And they  _were_  honours, but at the same time they filled Blaine with an aching and unshakable sadness. 

But try as he might, Blaine couldn’t span the wall that Kurt had so carefully constructed around himself. He wanted so badly for Kurt to just let him in; didn’t know what more he could do to show that Kurt really could trust him.  _Baby steps,_ he kept reminding himself. Kurt had _hugged_ him yesterday. When he had met him on that staircase months ago, he would never have envisaged that even that could happen. But the closer he got to Kurt, the more he wanted to know.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a short, sharp jab to the ribs. Blaine scowled over at Mike, who was staring straight ahead, leaning casually back into his seat. “What was that for?” he asked, rubbing at his side.

Mike turned to him with a wide, innocent look in his eyes. “What was what for?” Blaine raised his eyebrows as Mike flashed him a grin. “Come on, man. You had your patented ‘dreaming of Hummel’ face on.”

Blaine folded his arms, leaning back in the chair with a quiet huff. “I do not have a ‘dreaming of Kurt’ face.

“Dude, acceptance is the first step to recovery. Well, either that or you just  _tell him how you feel.”_ Mike gave him a pointed look.

Blaine cast his eyes to the ceiling in derision at the very idea.

“I’m serious, man. It worked for me and Tina.”

“Yes,” Blaine said with a sigh. “But you and Tina are perfect for each other. Kurt is so far out of my league it’s ridiculous. And I don’t even think he wants a relationship at all. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff.”

“You won’t know until you talk to him,” Mike said with a shrug,as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Blaine wished he were half as easy going as Mike. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“The worst that could happen?” Blaine repeated slowly. “The worst thing that can happen is that I completely freak him out with this ridiculous notion I have of what I really want from him and then he’ll never speak to me again.”

“How can you know what he wants if you’ve never talked about it properly?” Mike challenged.

Blaine opened his mouth to respond, but before he could formulate an answer Mr Shue had clapped his hands loudly at the front of the class.

“Guys, guys,” Mr Shue snapped his fingers at them. “Pay attention. New Age Rap week is  _important_.”

Blaine barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Is that even a thing?” he said out of the corner of his mouth. Mike smirked.

Blaine had the feeling Mr Shue was beginning to scrape the bottom of the barrel for ideas. And still, much to his chagrin, no Katy Perry Week as of yet. Maybe Blaine could bring it up. Just quietly at the end of the period. Glee Club had been sorely lacking in Pop Divas as of late.

As the rehearsal drew to a close, Rachel jumped to her feet and bustled to the front of the class. “Mr Shue, if I may?” She barreled on without waiting for an answer. “I have decided, that in an effort to unite the club as one, and so that we can reach our full potential at Regionals in the new year, I am going to have a party!” She clapped her hands together enthusiastically in front of her, beaming around the room at them.

They all stared back at her, dull-eyed and overwhelmingly uninterested.

She dropped her hands heavily to her sides. “Come on, guys. This will be  _fun_. We can even do karaoke!  _And_  you are more than welcome to invite Significant Others who may or may not-“ she gave Blaine a pointed look. “-Be part of Glee Club.”

Blaine looked at her with wide eyes, startled that Rachel had singled him out. “I don’t have a significant other,” he said to the room at large. Mike looked at him from the corner of his eye. 

“Shut up,” he muttered. But he could ask Kurt. Maybe. It could be fun. 

Maybe.

Finn glanced around back at him. “Rach, if you want this party to be about glee club bonding then why would you invite people from outside of glee club?”

“I don’t mind if other people go,” Tina said with a shrug. “It’s not like we’re going to have a raging keg party.” She turned to Rachel in dawning alarm. “Right?”

Rachel looked a little flustered. “Of course not. It will be an elegant soiree at my house with added karaoke fun.”

Puck snorted. “Sounds like a snooze-fest. I think I’ll pass.”

“They’ll be no passing!” Rachel said imperiously. “It is a mandatory Glee Club Event.”

There was a murmur of incredulous mutterings around the group, but no-one else spoke up. 

“Yay!” Rachel clapped his hands together again. “This is going to be so much fun.”

 

*

 

Blaine’s opportunity to ask Kurt came much quicker than he had imagined. He caught sight of the familiar shock of hair peaking out of the front of the grey beanie after school, his back ram-rod straight and retreating fast across the parking lot. Blaine scampered after him, calling out his name. Kurt didn’t even twitch, his headphones jammed over his beanie, shutting out bustle of the lot all too successfully. Blaine made a not to talk to him about the dangers of listening to loud music on headphones in an unpredictable vehicular zone. 

Blaine caught up with him and reached out a hand, closing his fingers around Kurt’s bicep. Kurt jumped and swung around, wrenching off his headphones and Blaine’s loose grip in one violent flinch. Blaine smiled with a small shrug. “Sorry, I called you, but…” He gestured to the headphones now resting on Kurt’s collar bones.

“It’s fine,” Kurt said, reaching down into his pocket to turn his music off. He looked to meet Blaine’s eyes with a a warm smile. Blaine allowed himself a moment to bask in it, warming him to his very bones. 

“I was just heading off,” Blaine said, biting gently on the side of his mouth. “I could give you a lift home if you wanted?”

Kurt’s lip twitched in sync with the sharp point of his eyebrow. “This is just you inviting yourself over to my house again, right?”

Blaine ducked his head with a huff of laughter. “Pretty much,” Blaine said, glancing up with a bashful smile.

“Of course you can come over.” He nudged Blaine with his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You are really aiding my laziness, you know. I’ll know who to blame when I become clinically obese and you’ll have to literally roll me to school.”

“Walking those two blocks to school and back really make all the difference?” Blaine asked, eyebrows raised. Kurt tipped his chin up and gave a defiant nod. “And,” Blaine continued, leaning in to Kurt. “I don’t think you’re in danger of being anything other than incredibly ho-, um, toned in the near future.” Blaine turned his face away, colour flushing up his neck. He gestured vaguely to his car and drifted towards it without another word. After a moment, Kurt followed.

They drove the couple of blocks to Kurt’s house in comfortable silence. By now, Kurt didn’t even comment on Blaine’s musical choices, simply turning to bestow a devastatingly withering look at him whenever a particularly questionable song began playing. Blaine just smiled benignly at him, knowing that Kurt didn’t really object, that he enjoyed imparting playful judgment. 

They let themselves into the empty house and had their usual coffee, curling up on the couch in front of the TV. Warmth bloomed through Blaine as he realised  _they had a usual thing together_. An effortless, natural  _routine_. They talked easily, on and off as they paid attention to the TV and then lost interest during the commercials, even if Kurt did claim that they were, in fact, more entertaining than the programmes themselves. They eventually lapsed into silence as the coffee mugs grew cold in their hands.

“So, Rachel’s having a party,” Blaine said, as offhand as he could manage.

Kurt hummed his acknowledgment, eyes still forward.

“I think it’s some kind of celebration.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Of Glee, I think.” Blaine glanced at Kurt. Nothing.

Blaine sighed. “She said we could bring people. Maybe, if, you know, we wanted to bring someone…um.” He swallowed. “Someone who is a person.”

Kurt turned slowly towards him, a smirk playing around his lips.

“And,” Blaine stumbled on. “I was wondering if you would do me the honour of being, um, that person.” He winced away from his own words, gripping the mug tightly in his hands. Cautiously, he raised his eyes.

“Let me get this straight,” Kurt said, narrowing his eyes a little. “You are asking me to accompany you to this party on the grounds that I am a  _person_.”

“Well,” Blaine said, clearing his throat. “That’s about the gist of it, yes.”

“And all of your Glee Club will be there?”

“I believe so.”

Kurt shifted. “Finn?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but Blaine held up a hand quickly to stop him. “But also Mike and Tina. They’re both really sweet. And Sam’s a nice guy.”

“The hot one with suspiciously well-defined blonde hair?”

An unexpected wave of angry heat flared through Blaine’s stomach. “Sam is blonde,” he said, nodding jerkily. “Also, very very straight.”

Kurt’s lips quirked in amusement. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view.”

Blaine sat back into the sofa, crossing his arms with a scowl. 

Kurt nudged him gently. “I’ll come to your party with you if you want.”

Blaine brightened immediately. “Really?”

“Really,” Kurt confirmed. “Although few things fill me with as much trepidation as the prospect of going to the house of one Rachel Berry.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Blaine said, relaxing back once more. “She’s really not that bad. And as soon as you mention that you’re a  _Wicked_  fan she’ll be your best friend.”

Kurt wrinkled his nose. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“She has got a good heart. She can just be a little…overwhelming.”

“Overbearing, more like,” Kurt muttered with a snort. 

Blaine prodded Kurt gently in the ribs. “Be nice.”

Kurt blinked innocently up at Blaine. “When have I ever not been nice? That doesn’t seem like something I would do.” 

Blaine shook his head with a smile. “It really doesn’t,” he said, reaching over to squeeze Kurt’s hand. 

 

*

 

Blaine drew himself up, taking a deep breath as he smoothed his hands over his hair and tweaked his bowtie so it lay just-so under his chin. He darted aside to check his reflection in the window, tugging down the sleeves of his coat with his fingers and stepping back to the door to reach up to press the doorbell. 

Blaine took a small step back in surprise as the door swung open immediately. Kurt was already there, leaning against the doorframe with an amused smirk on his face.

“You having trouble locating the doorbell?” he asked, clamping his lips together, the tips of his mouth twitching up.

“I-,” Blaine said. “ _No._  I was just running some last minute…checks.”

Kurt tilted his head to the side as if intrigued. “You were stood out there an awfully long time. On what, exactly, were you running checks?”

“My, er, me.”

“Your you?”

“Yes,” Blaine said, getting more and more flustered. He ran his clammy hands down his thighs. “My me.”

Kurt grinned and stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him. “You look cute,” he said over his shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

Blaine blinked.  _Cute, Kurt had just called him cute. But, cute as in a kitten you want to snuggle with or cute as in ‘roar I want you’? You know what?_ Blaine thought,  _I’ll happily take either at this point._

Blaine watched as Kurt walked - sauntered, really - away towards his car and  _holy wow those were some tight pants._ Blaine immediately berated himself for having been so caught up in his own embarrassment that he didn’t notice them before. He had denied himself valuable minutes of  _Kurt in those pants._  He unconsciously licked his lips, his eyes glazing over.

“Are you coming?” Kurt’s voice shocked him out of his reverie. He was now leaning over the hood of the car, his chin resting on his fist and looking up at Blaine with big doleful eyes. “You’re kind of vital in all stage of in this whole driving your car to the Glee Club party thing,” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth and tilting his head from side to side.

Blaine laughed, ducking his head as he jogged across to the car. Kurt had pursed his lips, tapping his fingers sequentially over the metal.

“One might almost think you  _wanted_ to go to this party,” Blaine remarked, flashing Kurt a grin.

Kurt ceased his tapping and snatched his hand away from the car. “Well, one must be a little off in the head, then.”

 

*

 

Rachel’s house was just a short drive away from Kurt’s, but when they got there the driveway was already overflowing cars out onto the street. Blaine parked up against the curb and jumped out, practically bouncing around the front of the car to Kurt’s side. Kurt was slower in exiting the car, swinging his long legs around and slowly slipping down onto the concrete. Blaine held out a hand, smiling encouragingly. “Let’s go in.”

Kurt clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair before taking Blaine’s hand. As they walked up to the house together, Kurt kept fidgeting with his free hand, popping the collar of his denim jacket, twirling an earring and twisting the leather cuff fastened loosely around his slender wrist. Blaine squeezed his hand a little tighter. 

They made their way down to the basement. Finn was stood with his back to the stairs, talking to Rachel. Rachel spotted them and beamed, running over to greet them. Finn turned slowly, a petulant expression on his face. 

“Welcome welcome,” Rachel said, spreading her arms. “Blaine, Kurt, welcome to my humble abode. Finn here will be happy to take your coats. You will have noticed that the party is already in full swing, but no need to worry: if anyone understands the concept of being fashionably late it’s me.” Blaine raised his eyebrows, and heard Kurt snort quietly next him as he glanced around the room. The rest of the Glee Club were spread around on the various couches and in some kind of kitchenette area, talking quietly amongst themselves. In the background, unless Blaine was very much mistaken, a Barbara Streisand CD was playing out. He hadn’t been to many parties, but he had the feeling that not even  _he_ could class this as a ‘in full swing’. To say the very least. 

“There is punch over in the kitchen, and some nibbles for you to enjoy as well!” 

Blaine nodded and smiled at her in thanks, dropping Kurt’s hand and slipping his coat off, handing it over to Finn. Kurt didn’t so much as look at Finn, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and rocking back on his heels.

Rachel bustled off, leaving Kurt and Blaine hovering at the bottom of the stairs. Kurt stood tall and unresponsive, closed off.

“Do you want to sit down? I could get us some drinks from the kitchen.”

Kurt raised his chin a little in consent and wandered over to the couch. Blaine watched him for a moment, his lips pursed in thought. He shook his head with a sharp exhale of air and meandered his way over to the small group surrounding the drinks and food. 

Blaine got pulled into a discussion with Tina, but watched from the corner of his eye as Mike approached Kurt. Kurt didn’t move from his position, eyes on the floor by his feet. Mike tried for a few moments, a forced expression on his face, but Blaine could see he was getting nothing from Kurt. Eventually Mike left, a slight frown on his face.

Blaine excused himself from his conversation, grabbing the drinks and made his way over to Kurt, catching Mike halfway across the room. 

“I tried,” was all Mike said, with a shrug, walking past him to hug Tina from behind.

Blaine sighed, casting his eyes back over Kurt. Kurt had a bored and disinterested look plastered across his face, but Blaine could see through it. He could see the small twisting of his hands in his lap, could practically hear the tension thrumming through his body. Blaine took a breath and walked over to the couch, sinking down next to Kurt and placing the drinks on the low coffee table. He reached over and placed his hands over Kurt’s. 

He felt Kurt relax the smallest amount, allowing his body to sink into the couch. 

“So, I was just thinking of the perfect song that you could sing later,” Blaine said, nudging Kurt with his shoulder. 

“What?” Kurt asked, blinking across at Blaine.

“A song. For the karaoke later on.”

“The-, what?”

“Karaoke,” Blaine said. “I’m told it’s a necessity of the Rachel Berry Party Experience.”

Kurt looked at Blaine fully, narrowing his eyes with an accusing glare. “I wasn’t warned there was going to be  _karaoke._ ”

Blaine grinned, a little evilly. “I may have accidentally on purpose forgotten to mention it.”

“Because you knew there was no fucking chance in hell I would ever go to a party with karaoke _and_ the Glee Club?” Kurt said, puling his hands sharply out from under Blaine’s.

“Woah,” Blaine said. “Hey, no. I didn’t think it would be that much of a big deal. No-one’s going to make you sing.”

As if on cue, the music shut off and Rachel stepped up onto the stage.  _Wait._ There was a  _stage._ In Rachel’s  _basement._

“So now that everyone’s here, I thought we could really start things off properly with a song or two from yours truly.”

There were barely suppressed groans from around the room, but Rachel didn’t seem fazed at all. She signaled for Finn to start the song.

Blaine felt Kurt immediately stiffen next to him as the music began to play. He could feel Kurt becoming increasingly tense by the second, locking and unlocking his ankles, twisting his hands in lap and flicking his eyes between Rachel and the foot of the stairs so fast his pupils became a blur of blue. Blaine laid a hand on the top of his thigh and squeezed, but it was so unforgiving under his hand that he doubted Kurt felt it at all.

Rachel hit the chorus, voice soaring out through the room, and in a second Kurt bolted, jumping up as if he had been given an electric shock. He darted across the room and up the stairs out of sight.

Blaine froze, blinking once, twice, and then scrambled to his feet. He could feel the eyes of the rest of Glee club on him, but he ignored them. He followed Kurt up the stairs and out of the front door, left open in Kurt’s haste to leave. 

“Kurt!” Blaine called, the cold air catching in his lungs as he ran along the path leading down to the street. “Wait up!”

Kurt was slowing ahead of him, staggering to a stop on the sidewalk. He bent over, propping himself up with his hands on his knees and wheezed, shuddering breaths ripping through his body violently. Blaine’s footfalls were heavy as he drew up beside him. He caught a glimpse of Kurt’s tear streaked face, contorted as he struggled for breath.

Blaine crouched down next to him, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and put a hand on his back, soothing circles into the rough material of Kurt’s denim jacket. “Breathe, Kurt,” He murmured, controlling his voice into as soothing a tone as possible. “It’s okay, just breathe.”

Kurt drew in a great shuddering breath and gave a shaky exhale, hitching again as he ran a trembling hand over his forehead. Blaine kept up his steady rhythm and quiet murmurings, not sure what else he could do. Slowly, ever so slowly, Kurt controlled his breathing, the heaving of his chest calming. He straightened up, swiping at his eyes.

“Sorry,” he rasped, turning away from Blaine. “I-. Sorry.”

Blaine reached forward for Kurt’s hands, squeezing them gently as he searched out Kurt’s gaze. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Kurt refused to look at him, biting his lip hard. “Still.”

Blaine watched him carefully. Kurt was shifting on the spot, running his hands through his hair and looking anywhere but Blaine, eyes shifting from the dark tarmac at their feet to the deep heavens above. He pushed angry tears away dismissively, but as soon as they were cleared still more replaced them. 

“Oh, come here,” Blaine said, stepping forwards and enveloping him in a warm hug. Kurt clung immediately to Blaine’s back. Blaine rested his chin on Kurt’s shoulder, tucking his nose inside the collar of his jacket. He held Kurt close to his body and allowed him to breathe, feeling Kurt’s heart beat against his. Blaine closed his eyes and just listened to their combined rhythms, sometimes synchronised and sometimes in syncopation, moving towards each other and then retreating, together and then apart, but always,  _always,_  complimenting each other. He rubbed his chin down into Kurt’ shoulder reassuringly, digging his fingers into Kurt’s back. 

He didn’t know how long they stood there, dimly illuminated in the orange lamplight of a nearby driveway. 

He was willing to stay all night. 

Eventually, Blaine felt Kurt move against him and he pulled back, just a fraction, so that he could look Kurt in the eye. Kurt’s face was blotchy, the well-worn tracks of tears glistening in the pale light. Blaine ran his thumbs across Kurt’s cheeks, brushing aside a couple of stray tears. Kurt stared straight back at him, incredibly still and incredibly close. Blaine let his hands fall gently down the sides of Kurt’s neck, his fingers skimming across smooth skin in a gentle caress. Kurt shivered against him.

“Feeling a little better?” Blaine asked quietly.

Kurt gave a glimmer of a smile and looked up, as if drawing some kind of strength. “That song-, that Rachel sang?” he asked, glancing back at Blaine. “That’s one of my Unsafe Songs.”

Blaine frowned in confusion, tilting his head.

“My mom, she—used to sing it to me,” Kurt whispered. “She used to sing it when I felt bad. I just-, I can’t listen to it. I wasn’t expecting it so I just-” he broke off with a shake of the head. “-Can’t.”

Blaine rubbed his hands up and down Kurt’s arms. “Okay,” he said. “That’s okay.”

Kurt just stared at him, running his eyes over Blaine’s face, as if trying to figure him out. Blaine just smiled back at him, letting him do…whatever it was he wanted to do.

Kurt blinked. “I’m so sorry I must look absolutely gross.”

Blaine reached forward, tipping Kurt’s chin up with his fingers to force him to look at him. His chest swelled as he said simply, “You’re always beautiful to me.” 

Kurt’s eyes widened a fraction, but he quickly rolled his eyes with a wet sniff. “Shut up.”

“No,” Blaine said steadily. “I mean it.”

Kurt’s lips parted with a soft exhalation, the warm breath tickling Blaine’s skin. He licked his lips, noticing with a jolt how intently Kurt was looking down at them.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Blaine leaned forward, flicking his eyes between Kurt’s still wide blue eyes and his lips. Blaine brought up his hand to caress the side of Kurt’s face, the tips of his fingers grazing through the short hair behind his ear and his thumb running down the front of his ear, catching on a couple of his piercings as he went. Blaine’s eyelids fluttered closed as he closed the gap between them.

Blaine’s mouth brushed against Kurt’s, their cold, dry lips barely whispering together before Kurt drew back with a sharp intake of breath. Blaine blinked his eyes open, a heavy weight sinking slowly through him. He swallowed and held out a hand to Kurt, but Kurt shrank back further, retreating from the warm circle of Blaine’s arms. Blaine let the hand drop to his side.

“I thought-,” Blaine said, his voice cracking as Kurt took a step back. “I thought that you wanted me to. I’m so sorry please don’t go. That was my mistake, my stupid  _stupid_ mistake. I-, please stay.” Kurt shook his head, backing away. Blaine searched Kurt’s face desperately for a sign, any sign as to what he had done wrong, but he couldn’t read it. “I didn’t mean to do that, I’m so sorry,  _Kurt please come back._ ”

But Kurt shook his head again, keeping his gaze on the floor at Blaine’s feet. “I did want you to,” he said so quietly that Blaine was almost sure he had imagined it. “But you didn’t. Not really.” 

“Don’t I get to decide that?” Blaine asked, hearing his voice get higher and thicker with every word. He pressed his finger in to his chest. “Me. My choice.”

Kurt clenched his jaw and wrapped an arm around his body, squeezing at his bicep tightly with his hand until the knuckles glowed white. “But you wouldn’t. You—you expect certain things from me and I can’t-“ he broke off again, pointing his chin up further and casting his face in shadow.

“Can’t what? _Talk to me.”_

There was a flash of something in Kurt’s eyes, something maybe a little like longing but before Blaine could focus on it was gone, replaced by a hard glaze that Blaine couldn’t penetrate. “Talking can’t change anything, Blaine.” He turned abruptly on his heel and strode off down the street, chin jutting out and hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

Blaine’s breath stuttered in his throat and he clenched his hands together, helplessly watching Kurt walk away. 

Kurt didn’t look back once.


	16. Chapter 16

_To: Kurt (10.08 am)  
Can we please talk about yesterday? - B x_

_To: Kurt (11.27 am)  
I promise talking *can* really help. Please? Try me?_

_To: Kurt (11.42 am)  
I’ll always be here if you do want to talk at some point. I’m really sorry if I upset you. I guess I’ll see you at school. -B x_

Blaine stared down at the messages he had sent earlier in the day, his thumb caressing the screen as if could somehow reach Kurt through it. His eyes were still raw and bloodshot from crying and he had yet to get dressed, choosing instead to indulge his self-pity via  _Singin’ in the Rain_ and ice-cream. If he was wallowing, he was going to do it properly.

He had absently observed the diminishing light from his bundle of covers on the bed, not even bothering to turn the light on. 

What was the point?

Blaine hadn’t been able to face going back into the party after Kurt had left, so he had texted Mike to bring out his coat and keys and headed straight for home, brushing off Mike’s attempts to ask him what was wrong. He hadn’t heard anything from Kurt, his phone lying dark and mocking him in its ongoing silence. He just wanted to know what he had done wrong, why Kurt wouldn’t talk to him. He drew the blanket over his head and buried his face in his pillow with a smothered groan. All he wanted was to get an inkling of what was going on in that perfectly-coiffed head of his.

Blaine’s stomach grumbled angrily, reminding him that he hadn’t actually eaten anything that day. With a groan, he threw the covers back and trudged over to the door, swaying a little in the head rush of standing up after being horizontal for so long. He ran a hand through his wild hair and straightened his thoroughly crumpled pajamas. 

His phone rang, the tone muffled but still clear in the silent house. Blaine whirled around and almost dived for his bed, scrambling through the covers to find the source of the ringing. He gave a triumphant “Aha!” as he saw the bright light of his phone. And there on the screen was Kurt, candid and bright with a twinkle in his eye; the photo taken on that first day in the car outside the garage.

He hastily tapped ‘accept’ and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Blaine!”

He could barely pick out the familiar voice over heavy bass. “Kurt?”

“Yes!” Kurt exclaimed. “It’s me! Kurt!” 

“O-kay,” Blaine said hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“I am GREAT!” Blaine took the phone a few inches away from his ear at the volume of Kurt’s reply. “A man with incredibly questionable dress sense bought me drinks.  _Blue_ ones, Blaine. It made my tongue go blue, too!” Kurt descended into completely indecipherable speech. Blaine guessed he was trying to look in the mirror at his tongue at the same time as talking to him.

“Kurt,” he said firmly.

Kurt stopped his nonsensical chatter and made a little chirp of acknowledgment. 

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Just-.” A pause. “Um,  _that_ many.”

“Are you holding up your fingers?” he sighed.

Kurt snickered. “Yup. Oops. I don’t know how many. Less than one hand?”

Blaine scratched the back of his neck, trying to think what to do. “Kurt, can you promise me something?”

“Maaaaybe,” Kurt replied coyly.

“Please promise me you won’t have any more drinks.”

Kurt huffed. “Booooring. I’m doing this for  _you_. Rude that you would want me to stop.” 

“What are you doing for me?” he asked.

“Now now, Blainereeno, that would be telling.”

Blaine took a deep breath. “Can you at least tell me where you are?”

A pause. Then, “ _It’s so so so scandalous,_ ” Kurt sang before descending into laughter.

Blaine scrunched up his nose. “Are you at Scandals?”

Kurt didn’t reply, the noise from the other end of the line increasing as the phone was apparently taken from his ear. Blaine could just make out Kurt’s giggle again and another man’s voice.  

“-Laine?”

“Yes, I’m here,” Blaine said patiently, even though his heart was starting to beat faster in his chest.

“Imma go now this gorgeous man right here-“ Kurt faded slightly as he apparently took the phone from his ear again.

“Kurt.”

All Blaine could hear was the muffled conversation and  _thump-thump-thump_ of the music.

“Kurt?!”

The call disconnected with a soft but finite click.

Blaine swore under his breath.

_Crap._

He had no idea what to do. At the moment Kurt just sounded like he was having fun. And Kurt was definitely in need of some fun. But how could he just leave him there?

Blaine rubbed his eyes in frustration and unlocked his phone again, calling a number he had hoped he wouldn’t have to call.

The tone rang on until a gruff voice answered. ”H’lo?”

Better to be labeled as ‘uptight’ than risk something happening to Kurt.  

 

*

 

Blaine and Burt pulled up across from Scandals and sat for a moment in silence, staring out across the street. Blaine had never been before, but had heard just enough from Sebastian to be sure that it was exactly the kind of place he wanted to avoid. Desperate men looking for some form,  _any form_ , of comfort, determined to forget their daily lives just for a few hours. And then to pair that with an impossibly hot,  _young,_ and drunk Kurt was a recipe for disaster. 

It fit the picture Blaine had built up in his head. It was a dingy building, dark and undistinguished. It seemed to absorb light away from the street so that all that was visible was the harsh white lamps illuminating the doorways. A couple of men were loitering outside by the exit, smoking and leaning against the grimy walls, eyes narrowed as they watched the door. Blaine scrutinised them as he reached for the door handle, but was held back by a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to come with you?” Burt asked. “I don’t like the look of some of these guys. You’re sure Kurt said he was okay?”

Blaine gave a quick nod. Hopefully, Kurt was. “With all due respect, sir, I think he might respond better if it’s just me,” he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. “I’ll call if I need any…help.”

Burt nodded, a defeated expression in his eyes, and slumped back in his chair as he gestured for Blaine to leave. Blaine headed towards the dark club, keeping his head down and shoulders hunched, avoiding the silent weight of the men’s gaze. He approached the entrance, heart sinking even further when he saw a man guarding the door. He hadn’t even thought about getting an ID.

But it wasn’t even a problem, and he was waved in without so much as a glance. 

It didn’t make Blaine feel any better.

He entered the main room of the bar, squinting through the darkness to try and locate Kurt, scouring the gloom for a glimpse of pink. Something tugged forcefully on the bottom of his shirt. He jumped away, looking for the source of the pulling. Kurt was grinning up at him from where he was sat on a sofa, heavy-lidded and loose and reaching out to him with grabby hands. Blaine let out a deep breath. Kurt was here. He was okay. 

Kurt was okay, but also _in another man’s lap_. Blaine ran wary eyes over the man. He looked to be older, much older, dusty brown hair falling down over cool grey eyes. Blaine was pleased to see the man was looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“-Wuz jus talkin’ bout you,” Kurt slurred, slapping his hand repetitively into Blaine’s, giggling when he missed and hit the couch instead. Blaine opened up his hand and clung on to Kurt the next time he made contact.

“How about we go home?” Blaine said hopefully, giving Kurt’s hand a squeeze.  _Maybe this could be easy._

“Blaaaaaine,” Kurt whined, snatching back his hand. “No fun. Les  _dance._ ” He attempted to get to his feet, scrabbling at the man behind him to try and shove himself up. The man pushed Kurt up, looking like he couldn’t wait to be free of him. Kurt fell heavily into Blaine’s arms and the man got up quickly, leaving with a brusque “he’s all yours” over his shoulder.

Blaine clung onto Kurt, not entirely sure what to do with an armful of very drunk boy. Kurt was muttering under his breath, leaning on Blaine and picking absently at his bow tie. Kurt looked up suddenly, eyes blinking and widening to try and bring him into focus. “Hello.”

Blaine smiled gently down at him. “Hi, Kurt.”

Kurt’s gaze dropped to Blaine’s lips. He reached up with one hand to touch them, reverently drawing Blaine’s dry bottom lip down with a finger until it popped back into place. “-Kissed you. I liked it.” He giggled again. “And you’re not a girl.”

Blaine scrunched his forehead in confusion. “No, no I’m not.”

“Katy Perry!” Kurt said, hitting him on the chest in protest with much more force than Blaine expected. “Thas Katy Perry. Your favourite. It’s like the song.” He began to sing again, managing to hit the notes perfectly and clearly even through his drunken stupor.

Blaine’s heart contracted in his chest.  _This boy._  He quickly shook himself out of it. “Alright, yeah, I get it. And yes you did,” Blaine said, grabbing Kurt’s hand, which was wandering lower and lower down his chest and around his back. “But I don’t think this is a great time to go into this. How about we get you to bed, okay?”

Kurt blinked up at him. “Bed w- you?”

“Um.” Blaine blushed. “No, no, just you. On your own. In your bed.”

“Nope,” Kurt said clearly, popping on the ‘p’. “I wan cuddles. Why don’t you wan cuddles?” He shifted in Blaine’s arms, looking up at him pitifully. Blaine tried to heft him up a little.

“Let’s go outside okay? Out of here.”

“-S what that guy wanted. Go outside. But -s too cold.”

Blaine squeezed his eyes closed and took a breath. Kurt didn’t seem to even realise what he’d managed to escape. “Yeah, it’s cold. But the car’s waiting right out front for you, all warm and ready to go. Come on.” He looped Kurt’s arm over his shoulder and tightened his other arm around Kurt’s waist. Kurt slumped against him, head hanging.

Kurt jolted forward. Blaine just managed to keep a hold of him. “Spinny spinny.”

Blaine glanced at him. “If you feel like you’re going to throw up, you  _tell me_ , okay?”

Kurt gave a tiny nod and immediately froze, grimacing at the motion. “Oh.”

Blaine did his best not to jostle Kurt or any of the men leering over at them on the journey, tightening his grip around Kurt’s waist and near dragging him out as quickly as he could. Kurt was bumbling along perfectly happily again, every so often trying to escape Blaine’s now vice-like grip with a burst of new found vivacity. Fortunately Blaine’s motor skills were still very-much up to scratch and he managed to catch him every time. 

“Blaine.” Kurt suddenly turned to Blaine just inside the entrance of the bar and prodded his chest, fixing him with a strong gaze and speaking slowly. “I need to tell you something.”

“Are you sure?” Blaine said hesitantly.

Kurt nodded vigorously, the movement causing him to wobble and fall into Blaine a little more as he narrowed his eyes and blinked to try and get his balance back. “You-.” Kurt prodded him again, letting his fingers trail over Blaine’s shirt. “-Are  _such_ a nice person. And you have really nice lips. And arms. And face. But-.” Kurt seemed to struggle for the words. “Sebastian been here first. So.”

Blaine blinked.  _Sebastian?_

“Is that why you ran away yesterday, because of Sebastian? Just a  _little_  hypocritical of you, don’t you think, Kurt?”

“No!” Kurt sounded incredibly frustrated that Blaine wasn’t getting the point. Blaine searched his eyes, looking for some kind of meaning. “No,” he said again, quieter, sadder _._ His eyes glistened and he sniffled a little.

Blaine hastened to tighten his arm around Kurt again “Okay, okay,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll sort it all out later, okay? Let’s go home, yeah?

Kurt tucked his head under Blaine’s arm and nodded against his chest. 

“Okay then,” Blaine said with a deep breath. 

They resumed their slow passage back to the car. It was still in the same place as when Blaine had left it. Burt was leaning against the door with arms folded, his face drawn tight. His shoulders sunk in relief as he saw them, immediately pushing himself off the car and rushing over to them. 

Kurt clung to Blaine, blindly allowing him to take them across the street and towards the car. Burt reached them and glanced between them both warily. Kurt had closed his eyes, pressing his entire weight against Blaine.

“Is he okay?” Burt asked Blaine. 

Blaine gave a sharp nod. “He’s a bit out of it but he’s fine. Can you help me get him into the car, please?”

Burt moved over to Kurt’s other side. “Come on, bud, let’s get you home.”

Kurt wrapped himself more snugly around Blaine, effectively blocking any efforts from Burt to help. Blaine looked at Burt helplessly, apology in his eyes. Burt ducked his head, not meeting Blaine’s gaze and placed a hand on Kurt’s back, ushering them over to the car.

Kurt climbed up into the back seat, teetering precariously on the way up. He looked back at Blaine with pleading eyes. Blaine sighed and climbed up after him into the backseat. Kurt settled immediately against him, fingers winding into Blaine’s shirt and head nudging under his arm. 

Burt wordlessly closed the door gently behind them and got into the front. They drove home in silence, the yellow streetlights flashing in front of Blaine’s eyes in a hazy blur, all his attention focussed on the warm weight pressing against him. Kurt seemed to have crashed, dozing on Blaine’s chest for most of the way. Kurt slept with a quiet snuffling, his body rising and falling against Blaine; pulling away and coming back, pulling away and coming back. Blaine rubbed down his arm soothingly, trying to keep him asleep as long as possible.

Kurt stirred just as they pulled into the Hummel driveway. “Are we home?” he murmured sleepily, curling up even closer against Blaine’s chest, one arm clutched to his tummy and the other around Blaine. “I feel sick. Is mom there? I want my mom.”

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, heavy nausea settling in his stomach. “No, Kurt,” he whispered into his hair. “I’m sorry she’s not here.”

Kurt let out a low whine, shuffling closer into Blaine and tightening his arms around him. Blaine glanced up and caught the gaze of Burt in the rear-view mirror. There was a sadness so deep and a pain so visible and  _real_  that Blaine struggled to keep looking, dropping his eyes and squeezing Kurt closer to him, praying that there was something, anything, he could do to make it better.

Burt adjusted his cap on his head and opened the car door. Blaine adjusted Kurt on his lap, not sure how he was supposed to transport him from the car to the house. Kurt out was like a light again, snuffling into Blaine’s shirt and emitting tiny little snores. Burt pulled open the door, looking down at Kurt through soft eyes.

“It’s alright I’ll take him in,” Burt said quietly, gesturing for Blaine to let go. “I’ll just carry him up to bed.”

Blaine kept stroking absently along Kurt’s arm, fingers trailing over the goosebumps that had risen in Kurt’s skin. Burt followed the movement with steady eyes. “Are you sure? I could probably take him in. I don’t want you to, um, hurt yourself in any way.”

“Blaine,” Burt said firmly. “I am going to take my son inside.” Blaine lowered his gaze. “You can spend the night if you want - on the  _couch,_ mind you - if you don’t want to drive home.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, loosening his grip on Kurt. “I was just trying to help.” 

Burt nodded, almost to himself as he stepped forward and scooped Kurt up in his arms. Kurt barely moved, only curling his hand into the front of Burt’s shirt. Blaine hung back as Burt looked down at Kurt with a shaky breath. Burt shifted him in his arms, speaking quietly to him so that Blaine couldn’t hear as they began to make their way into the house and up to Kurt’s room. Blaine kept his distance, trailing after them as Burt slowly ascended the stairs and set Kurt down gently on the bed. Blaine leant against the doorway as Burt ran a hand through Kurt’s hair, large hands brushing down the side of his face. Kurt gave a small mumble in his sleep and leant into his father’s touch, making a little noise of contentment as he pressed back against his hand. 

With a small smile, Blaine nudged himself away from the doorframe and turned away from them, putting his hands in his pockets and leaving them to it. He went down to the living room and perched on the edge of the couch.

He waited.

The house was quiet around him, the gentle humming of the electrics and the ticking of the clock lulled him gently further back into the warm couch. He slipped off his shoes and tucked his feet underneath himself. He noticed, just as his head drooped to his chest, a full beer bottle on the table in front of his, the cap lying next to it. 

He started awake what felt like a second later. A warm fleecy bundle had been dropped in his lap. He forced his eyes open and looked up blearily. Burt sunk down into the opposite armchair, rubbing his hands tiredly over his face. Blaine ran his hands over the soft blanket. 

“Is he okay?” he asked after a few minutes. 

Burt sighed into his hands and heaved himself forward to lean his elbows on his knees, his head bowed almost in prayer. He raised his eyes to meet Blaine’s worried gaze and gave a slow nod.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, fiddling with his hands in his lap. “I think maybe it was sort of my fault that Kurt went to Scandals this evening.”

“Kid,” Burt sighed. “If Kurt wanted to go to Scandals, he was gonna go to Scandals. He’s done it before; he’ll do it again. That’s just Kurt for you.”

Blaine hesitated, staring at his hands. “Well, I’m still sorry.”

Burt nodded again, his eyes heavy. “I just glad he’s found someone who he feels he can call.”

“I would never want him to get hurt.”

Burt turned to him, a small, shrewd smile on his face. “No,” he agreed. “You really like him, huh?”

Blaine opened his mouth ready to deny but gave up once he saw Burt didn’t seem overly upset at the idea. He reached up a hand to rub at the back of neck, a half smile twitching at his lips. “I…really like him. It’s that obvious?”

“Yeah,” Burt chuckled. “Every time you look at him you look like your head has been on the receiving end of a long ball from Pryor.”

“Better Pryor than Troy Smith.”

Burt raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Buckeye fan?”

Blaine gave a little shrug. “It was the only thing I could do with my dad. We don’t really have anything in common.”

Burt nodded in understanding, settling back in the chair. 

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, though,” Blaine said. “If you were even worried. I don’t think Kurt feels the same way.”

“I don’t know,” Burt said, scratching his chin. “The way he looks at you….” He dipped his head again. “Brings back memories.” Burt gazed at the edge of the coffee table, a far off smile lifting his face to look at least ten years younger. 

Blaine dropped his eyes back to his hands. He felt like he was intruding again.

“He’s so strong,” Burt said quietly, staring intently at Blaine. “But so incredibly brittle as well. Don’t ever take advantage of the trust he’s put in you.”

Blaine swallowed, but held Burt’s gaze, trying to convey the depths of his earnestness. “I won’t. I promise.”

Burt gave another sharp nod.

Blaine’s eyelids were getting heavy again, his blinks getting slower and slower as he was dragged under. He shifted on the couch, regretting that he had chosen  _quite_ such a tight pair of pants. 

“Go to sleep, kid,” Burt said, getting to his feet. “There are some sweats in that blanket if you want them.” He paused in the door. “Thank you again for being there for Kurt.”

Blaine smiled up at Burt and waited for him leave before sluggishly tugging on the sweats and crawling into the corner of the couch. He snuggled down into the blanket, his stomach jolting when all he could smell was  _Kurt,_ overwhelming his senses. All the confusion and worry rose rapidly to the surface again, dispelling any previous relief of Kurt just being  _okay._

He pushed the blanket away from his face with a sigh and folded his arms over the edge of the warm fleece, all his sleepiness evaporated in an instant. This was going to be a long night. 


	17. Chapter 17

Kurt woke in a fog of confusion, a ringing in his ears and a revolting taste in his mouth. He groaned in displeasure, but abruptly cut himself off as the vibrations from his voice rattled around in his head. He squeezed his eyes against the light stabbing at his eyelids and turned his face into the pleasantly cool pillow. He felt heavy, his limbs sinking into the soft mattress, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he could move, even if he wanted to. And fuck, Kurt really didn’t want to.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and tugged the covers back from his face. Kurt scrunched up his face and let out a frustrated breath as there was a small dip of the mattress, shifting him further over onto his side.

He cracked his eyes open to see a steaming cup of coffee stood on the nightstand, and the face of his father peered down at him, a look of concern etched into his already lined features.

He sank a little deeper into the mattress.

“Hey, bud,” Burt said, keeping his hand tight on Kurt’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Kurt turned over to face the wall, shrugging off Burt’s hand so that it fell to the mattress with a thud. “Like shit.” 

He pulled the covers back over his head. 

“Well,” Burt said, nudging Kurt. “You weren’t sick last night so you gotta be glad about that, even if you do feel like crap this morning.” 

As if Kurt was supposed to be pleased about this.

Wow, okay.

“I’m fucking ecstatic.”

The heavy hand weighed on his shoulder again, accompanied by an even heavier sigh. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“There was nothing that might not be okay,” he mumbled, his words immediately stifled by the blanket. His head was pulsing against his ears in objection to the bright light and loud words. He snapped his eyes shut again. But straight away images from last night swam to the forefront of his mind, causing small, sharp needles of shame to begin to prickle at his skin. Him, last night, humiliating himself and acting like a desperate, needy child.

In front of his dad. 

In front of Blaine.

He curled up on himself, away from his father. One arm tucked up under his chest, the other reached around under the pillow, searching for the touch of comfort he knew he’d left there yesterday. He reached further, checking the bed as far as he could stretch without moving, but all he felt was the soft jersey of his sheets. He slumped back down in defeat, bringing his knees almost up to his chin and whispering, “Just let me sleep.”

“Alright,” Burt said quietly. “I just wanted to let you know I’d been called into the garage on an emergency job. I shouldn’t be too long.”

Kurt made a small grunt of acknowledgement.

There was another shift of the mattress as Burt got to his feet. A silky soft, achingly familiar piece of fabric was gently pushed into Kurt’s hand. Kurt gripped it on reflex, pulling it down to hold tightly to his chest. Burt squeezed at Kurt’s arm, his fingers rough on Kurt’s smooth skin, gone in an instant as he stepped away from the bed.

He faltered in the doorway. “Blaine’s still asleep on the couch. Just…to let you know, or…yeah. He’s on the couch.”

Kurt froze, clutching the silk scarf as he listened to Burt’s footsteps retreating from the room and down the stairs. Blaine was here. 

Blaine was still here.

His eyes blinked blearily open, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest in time with his head. 

Blaine was still here. 

He sat up quickly in bed, and promptly regretted it as a wave of nausea overcame him. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he swung his legs off the bed and wobbled his way over to his bathroom. He clutched the cool ceramic of the sink and took a few deep breaths. His pallid reflection stared back at him through bloodshot eyes. The usual shock of pink of his hair was dull and matted, falling limply over his forehead, the many glinting piercings failing to distract from his ashen skin. 

He lowered himself onto his elbows with a sigh, ducking his head to run his hands back and forth over his hair, giving himself a few moments to breathe. Gradually, the sink stilled beneath him and the spinning of the room shuddered to a stop.

Blue-grey eyes still stared back at him. No flash of brilliant cyan, no spark of a gentle smile. 

_“You look so much like her.”_

He still couldn’t see it.

 

*

 

Kurt dragged himself into the shower, shutting his eyes and tipping his face up into the stream. He ran his fingers back through his hair, allowing the scalding water to wash over him. The water did nothing to lessen the anxiety churning in his stomach.

With a sigh he turned off the shower and wrapped a towel firmly around his waist. After brushing his teeth, he pulled on his softest sweats and sank back onto the edge of his unmade bed. The scarf was still lying on the bed next to him. Swallowing thickly, he picked it up and ran it slowly through his fingers, his head bowed and his damp hair shielding his eyes from the glare of the room.

Heat prickled at the back of his eyelids again. He brought the scarf up to his face, breathing in deeply. The air stuttered in his throat as his lungs filled with her scent, always present as if woven into the fibres of the fabric. 

There was a soft knock on the open door. Kurt looked up, a startled whisper of air escaping his lips. Blaine was hovering in the doorway, hand still raised to the door. 

“Hey,” Blaine said. The silent house swallowed the words quickly. A brief smile flitted across his lips and he took a tentative step into the room. “I heard your dad leave, so, um, I just wanted to see if you were awake.”

Kurt swiped a hand under his eyes and dropped his gaze back to the scarf, hunching his shoulders forward. “Hi.”

Blaine shuffled towards him, too-long sweatpants dragging across the floor behind him. Kurt kept his head down, but followed Blaine’s movements closely through the barrier of his hair. Blaine stopped in front of Kurt, an arm wrapped around his side, rucking up his already sleep rumpled undershirt. His hand twitched at his waist. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Kurt jerked his head to his side. Blaine lowered himself down next to him, carefully leaving a few inches between them. The inches felt like miles.  

Blaine folded his hands neatly on his lap, knuckles just a little too white and the skin just a little too stretched for him to be at ease. “Did you sleep okay?” 

Kurt hummed vaguely, folding and unfolding the scarf in his hands.

“Good.” Blaine nodded, flicking his eyes all around the room. “Good.”

Kurt ran a ran through his hair, the strands pleasantly cool on his shaking fingers.

“That’s a beautiful scarf.” Kurt glanced up at Blaine before he could think about it, his hand stilling behind his ear. Blaine was staring straight back at him, eyes crinkled with kindness and shining with faltering hope.

“Thank you,” Kurt murmured, letting his hand trail down the side of his neck and fall back onto his lap. “It was my mother’s.”

Blaine didn’t say anything but kept his gaze steady. He sent Kurt a small, sad smile, his hand twitching again in his lap.

“I gave it to her,” Kurt continued, his hands curling into tight fists around the scarf. “I gave it to her for her birthday only a few months before-. Before. And she wore it every day, claiming it went with all her outfits. She used to say how clever I was to find something that went with everything in her closet.” He smiled softly as a tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, and he let it fall so that it trickled slowly down the outside of his cheek. “I really wanted to b-, bury it with her. I thought she would like that. But I couldn’t do it.” He took a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t do it.” He folded in on himself, his body shaking with the effort of holding everything in. 

A warm hand pried at his fists, loosening their grip enough to fold their palms together. Blaine shifted, closing the gap between them to press their sides together and wrapping his spare arm around Kurt’s back to tug him in. Kurt let himself sag into Blaine.

“I’m just so tired,” he said, voice hitching on every word. “Of-, everything.”

“I know,” Blaine whispered, leaning his head against Kurt’s and turning to press a kiss into his hair. “I know.”

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, more tears leaking out. “And then I’m s-, so sorry about last night I was such a-, an idiot and I didn’t mean-“

“Shhhh,” Blaine hummed, holding Kurt closer to him and running his thumb over Kurt’s hand. “We can talk about that later on. Why don’t you get some more rest now?”

Kurt sniffed roughly and sat up to look at Blaine. “But I need to explain-“

“It can wait - I can wait, I promise.” Blaine smiled down at him, reaching to gently brush aside a tear with his thumb.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Blaine nodded. 

Kurt leant his full weight against Blaine in relief and let himself be lulled under by the soothing pattern of Blaine’s hand up and down his side and the steady undulations of his chest. Blaine began to hum under his breath, and he just caught a few snatches of a lilting melody he didn’t recognise before he succumbed to the exhaustion weighing him down. 

 

*

 

Kurt blinked awake a few hours later, immediately feeling ten times lighter. He was still on his bed, curled on his side facing the sleeping form of Blaine. Blaine was on his back next to him, an abandoned magazine resting on his stomach, looking like it was going to slide off the bed and onto the floor at any moment.

He fought the urge to reach over just a few more centimeters to nudge the curl of dark hair back from where it lay on Blaine’s forehead. Long eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks, a line of worry darkening Blaine’s otherwise smooth, soft countenance; something troubling him even in sleep. He looked exhausted, heavy bags under his eyes and skin unusually pale.

Kurt gently slipped out from under the covers, trying his best not to disturb Blaine. He pressed the back of his hand to the coffee his father had left on the nightstand. It was freezing to the touch. With a sigh, he gathered up the mug and padded over to the door. He glanced back into the room, eyes lingering on the form of Blaine in Kurt’s bed, a little taken aback as to how  _not_ weird it felt to have him there. 

Blaine blinked awake as Kurt entered the room again laden down with a large breakfast tray. He balanced it on the nightstand and turned to Blaine, wringing his hands in front of him. He didn’t even know why he was nervous, but the jitters in his stomach would not go away.

“So I made breakfast,” Kurt said, gesturing unnecessarily at the tray.

Blaine raised himself up onto his elbows, a smile playing around his lips as he took in the spread that Kurt had set out for him. “You remembered what I like for breakfast?” he asked, a note of wonder in his voice.

Kurt hid the thrill of pleasure that ran down his spine at the tone of his voice, turning to him with a look of derision. “Of course I did.”

Kurt didn’t miss the tinge of red that spread to Blaine’s ears or the broadening of his smile as he dropped his chin to rest on his chest to mumble, “Of course you do.”

Kurt simply grinned and reached into his bag to grab a cigarette, tucking it carefully behind his ear. Blaine raised his eyebrows in question, which Kurt duly ignored as he climbed onto the other side of the bed, keeping his coffee level with both hands and settling cross-legged on the covers to face Blaine. Blaine stared at him for a few moments, lips parted and colour flooding to his cheeks. Kurt couldn’t dampen the smile on his own face, so relieved that at least for the moment they seemed to be back to their usual easy teasing and lingering glances. 

“So how are you feeling?” Blaine asked, keeping his anchoring gaze on Kurt as he pushed himself up and turned to mirror Kurt’s position on the bed.

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder. “Better than earlier.”

“Everything’s so much worse when you’re tired,” Blaine said, nodding. “I’m really glad that you’re feeling a bit better.”

Kurt ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “Earlier I-, I didn’t mean I’m just tired physically.”

“I know,” Blaine said softly. “But I think that being physically tired always makes it harder to find the positives.”

“Even if the positives are standing right in front of you,” Kurt said, flicking his eyes up to meet Blaine’s, before rolling his eyes at himself and dropping his gaze back to his coffee. He cleared his throat. “You seem pretty tired yourself. Was the couch not as comfortable as last time?”

“Something like that,” Blaine said with a fleeting grimace before looking back to Kurt with a teasing sparkle in his eye. “It was definitely much colder than last time, anyway.”

Kurt ducked his head to hide his smile, mind immediately flashing to waking up tangled with Blaine, to being so deliciously warm and comfortable and close. His smile faded as he remembered why that hadn’t happened this time. He had been held in someone’s arms. He had walked away from that. 

“I’m really sorry about last night,” he said with a quick flicker of a glance up to Blaine, fingers tight around his coffee mug. “I had this…” he waved a hand loosely in the air. “Plan? I guess. But of course I ruined it.”

“What plan?” 

“It’s not even-, a thing. It’s stupid. It doesn’t even matter-“

Blaine leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and shoulders hunching to fix Kurt with an earnest stare. “Kurt, just tell me.”

Kurt ran a hand roughly through his hair. “But it’s fu-, it was just ridiculous and pointless and it failed so there’s no point-“

Kurt stopped abruptly as Blaine reached over to take his hand. “Kurt. You said earlier that you would explain it to me. No matter how stupid you might think it is, just, please tell me. I was up half the night trying to figure out what on earth is going on with you.” He paused, turning Kurt’s hand over and rubbing his thumb along Kurt’s palm, pulling his hand into his lap. He looked back to Kurt with pleading eyes. “With us. I deserve to know why we kissed and then you ran away, even though apparently you wanted to kiss me. Or why I found you, off your head, in the lap of some middle-aged man in a dodgy gay bar. Or why you even called me from there in the first place.”

Kurt lowered his gaze to their hands, watching as Blaine continued to rub soothing circles into his palm. “I-,” he started, snapping his mouth shut as his heart beat wildly in his chest. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Blaine said. “Just talk to me.”

Kurt floundered. “I don’t know,” he repeated, a little louder.

“Kurt, come on. You promised.”

Kurt snatched his hand back from Blaine. “And you promised that this could wait until later. I call that it’s not ‘later’ yet.”

Blaine narrowed his eyes. “That’s crap. Just tell me what the hell is going on! Stop with the mixed signals and just throw me a bone here, Kurt. Don’t you think you owe me that?”

Kurt disentangled himself quickly from his position and jumped up off the bed to pace across his room. “Blaine, I don’t want to do this now.”

“Well, you’re not running away.”

Kurt felt cornered. “Blaine. Don’t make me do this.”

“Why did you call me last night?”

“I don’t-, I was drunk, Blaine.”

“So why would you call me? You were with those other guys. They were all over you. You had what you wanted, right?” Blaine sounded so resentful and angry and so completely un-Blaine-like that Kurt stopped, facing the wall away from Blaine. He felt sick. “So why did you call me?”

Kurt swung around to face him. “You preach about not judging anyone based on rumours or how they look but that is complete and utter bullshit, Blaine.” He stalked towards him. “You’ve bought into every single thing anyone’s said about me. You think I’m this person, this mysterious, easy, edgy, interesting person. You like me because you think I’m ‘enigmatic’ and ‘different’ and all this other crap but you don’t know jack.”

“Yeah?” Blaine challenged, standing up and stepping towards Kurt. “If you’ve decided I feel that way then I must feel that way. I couldn’t possibly have mind of my own. Tell me, Kurt. Tell me what I’m getting so wrong about you.”

Kurt blanched, his breaths coming in short gasps as his throat contracted. 

“Exactly,” Blaine said, the bitterness sounding heavy and unnatural in his mouth. “You won’t say.”

Kurt stared at Blaine, eyes searching the unrecognisable angry lines of his face for some kind of meaning. He was lost. He didn’t understand how this had happened, how this conversation had turned out like this. 

“Why are you being like this?” he whispered.

Blaine slumped in defeat in front of him, all the fight leaving his body as he sank back down onto the bed. Kurt watched as he fiddled with his hands in his lap, his brow furrowed and his lips tipped down. He looked so small, perched on the side of the bed in his baggy sweats and wrinkled undershirt. All Kurt wanted to do was wrap his arms around him and tell me that everything would be okay. But at the same time he was so  _angry._ He needed so badly to yell at Blaine, force him to understand just how hard this was for him.

But then Blaine raised his gaze and Kurt forgot to breathe. Blaine’s eyes were shining bright with emotion, wide and safe and warm and focused solely on Kurt. His face turned up into a slow, wry smile. “Because I think that maybe - definitely, actually - I’m in love with you,” he said, never letting his eyes leave Kurt’s. “You know that I can see you. Because you let me. So stop trying to push me back to arm’s length. I will go if you really want me to, but I don’t think you do.” He was speaking quietly but with such certainty and honesty that Kurt couldn’t doubt a word he was saying. “It’s really as simple as that. I love you.”

There was no breath left in Kurt’s lungs. He felt like his heart had stuttered to a halt in his chest and then jumped into life again, hammering against his chest until all he could feel was the rush of blood through his veins and all he could hear was a deafening thump thump thump, so loud he was sure Blaine must be able to hear it.

But all he could see was Blaine still staring at him, watching him, analysing his reaction. Kurt couldn’t do anything except stare right back. 

“Kurt?”

Kurt blinked at him. 

“Are you…okay?”

Kurt opened his mouth to reply but shut it when no sound would come out. He gave a dumb nod.

Blaine got to his feet and took a small step towards him, raising a hand towards but seeming to think better of it and letting it fall back to his side. “I didn’t want to freak you out. I just-, I really do, um, feel that way. I’m sorry I haven’t gone about this in the best way. I-,” he paused, again searching Kurt’s face. Kurt couldn’t seem to arrange his expression into something that might comfort him. “It hurts that you won’t tell me what’s going on because I thought we were friends - best friends, and I just want to help.”

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his hand across his forehead. His brain felt jumbled, like someone had plucked it from his skull, had a quick game of squash with it and shoved it back in so that he couldn’t extract one thought that made sense. He opened his eyes.  “I-.” His voice cracked. “We are best friends.”

Blaine’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Glad to hear it.”

Blaine’s smile settled into Kurt. He took a deep breath, twirling his earring with a shaky hand. He fixed his gaze on the foot of his bed. Blaine’s toes were scrunched into the carpet, and behind them Kurt could see the dark shape of the carefully sealed plastic box that lived under his bed. He took another breath. “I’ve never had sex,” he said quickly, his voice high and breathy. “I’ve never been with anyone. I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve never so much as held hands with anyone until you reached out to me in the hallway downstairs.”

Blaine didn’t move. Kurt swallowed and ploughed on, barely taking the time to breathe as he rushed to get it all out. “So you think that I’m this worldly person who’s been with loads of guys and gone to loads of places, but last night was the first time I’ve ever been to Scandals and Friday night was my first kiss. People say stuff about me, and that’s fine. Quinn likes to add her little fabricated stories; she thinks it’s funny, or whatever. So they say stuff about me but they don’t do anything to me. Usually. And that’s how I want it.”

Kurt sucked in a lungful of air as he finished, his heart still hammering against his ribcage. He risked a glance up at Blaine’s face. It was scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t-.” He shook his head in complete bewilderment. “That’s what you were terrified to tell me?”

“Yes?” 

“But that’s not even-. Why would I be upset about that?”

“Because you’ve been with Sebastian! Because you’ve done everything with him and know what’s going on and have experience and I have no idea what it’s like to even properly kiss someone.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Blaine said, raising his hands in a wild shrug. “I couldn’t care less about your history with guys.”

“Of course it matters,” Kurt scoffed. “It’s pathetic.”

Blaine stepped forwards again, the expression in his eyes soft and caring and so Blaine. There he was. “It’s really, really not. Oh,  _Kurt._ ” He reached for Kurt’s hands. “Is this what last night was about?”

Kurt nodded with just one dip of his chin as he studied Blaine’s expression. He couldn’t find any of the reactions he had expected written in the kind contours of his face.

“When we kissed on Friday I didn’t know what to do,” Kurt said, eyes still running anxiously over Blaine. “I really wanted to kiss you back but I had a minor panic attack and ran away. I was going to get some ‘experience’, or whatever, last night. So that if, in some bizzarro universe, you might have wanted to kiss me again I would be able to show you how I feel.” Blaine had tilted his head to one side, open and listening to every word with rapt attention. “But of course I ruined it. As soon as I was drunk all I could think about was you.” He shook his head with a little exhalation of breath in an attempt to clear his head. “All these guys were asking me to dance but all I wanted was to dance with you.”

He gave a little shrug and looked down at the floor. His hair fell back in front of his eyes and he made no attempt to push it back. 

Blaine let go of one of his hands and tipped up Kurt’s chin with two fingers. “Kurt Hummel,” he said, a beautiful smile gracing his lips. “May I have this dance?”

It was the last thing Kurt had been expecting. “What?”

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

Kurt drew his head back a fraction of an inch. “Here? Now?”

“Yep!” Blaine beamed over at him, his eyes glinting out jovially at Kurt.

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t dance sober.”

Blaine scoffed. “Of course you do.”

Kurt looked at Blaine with an appraising slant of his head. “I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, Blaine,” Kurt said in a serious tone. “But we’re not in a nineties teen rom-com.”

“A source of great sadness in my life,” Blaine said with an exaggerated sigh. “So we must create these moments for ourselves.” He held out a hand to Kurt, sincerity returning to his voice. “Please dance with me?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes at the offending hand, biting back a smile. “You don’t even want music?”

“Nope,” Blaine said, reaching to grab Kurt’s hand with a roll of his eyes. 

The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitched. “Is this the part where you say there’s music enough in our hearts for us to dance the whole night through?”

“Oh, so you already watched this one?” Blaine said with interest, rearranging their hands so that their fingers were intertwined. “I don’t need to tell you how it goes, then.”

Blaine pulled Kurt to him and their bodies slotted perfectly into place. Kurt let out a slow, steadying breath as Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt’s back, nudging for him to do the same. He could feel Blaine’s heart against his and the warm exhalation of breath against his neck where Blaine had tucked his head. 

“I feel ridiculous,” Kurt huffed.

Kurt could feel Blaine press his smile into his neck. “No, you don’t.”

He smiled into Blaine’s hair. No, he didn’t.

Kurt let himself relax into Blaine, allowing the warmth to seep through into his bones. He fluttered his eyes closed and buried his nose further in Blaine’s hair which, he realised with a widening smile, was soft and curly and smelt vaguely of raspberries. He shifted his arm up Blaine’s back to twirl his finger tips around the short tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. Blaine sighed into his neck, melting into him. The hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck stood on end, shivers cascading deliciously down his spine.

He realised that the earlier churning of his stomach had completely settled without him noticing, leaving him utterly at peace. He leant back a little, opening his eyes to look directly at Blaine. Blaine was staring right back at him, a small but blissful smile tugging at his lips. Heat spread through Kurt as he watched Blaine’s gaze flicker between his eyes and down to his lips and back again. His breath came faster, more erratic, and he gave a tiny nod as he began to lean in.

Blaine paused mere millimetres from Kurt, his eyes shining bright and vulnerable. “Please don’t run away this time,” he whispered, his warm breath tingling against Kurt’s lips.

Kurt let out a breath, reaching to dance the tips of his fingers down the sides of Blaine’s face. He watched their path, captivated by the feel of the smooth skin of Blaine’s cheek and the scratchy stubble around his chin. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, flicking his gaze back to meet Blaine’s. “I promise.” His mouth tipped in a half smile as their eyes locked. He felt the intensity of Blaine’s gaze right down to his toes, coiling around him and keeping them close.

His eyelids slipped shut and closed the gap between them with a gasp of air. Their lips touched, hot, sweet breath trapped between them. Kurt let himself relax into it with a soft moan, wrapping an arm around Blaine’s neck and pulling him impossibly closer. Their lips glided over one another smoothly, overlapping so that Blaine could suck Kurt’s top lip between his own. 

Kurt immersed himself into the kiss, forgetting everything but the feeling of Blaine all around him, enveloped in his taste, his smell, his hands. His warm, wet tongue traced over Kurt’s top lip, teasing at the seam of his mouth. Kurt opened his mouth with a sigh and Blaine tilted his head slightly to kiss him deeper, to hold him closer.

All he could hear was the muffled gasps of their breath and the rapid thumping of Blaine’s heart against his, each successive beat seeming louder in his ears as he realised this was _Blaine._ This was really happening. Heat prickled at the back of his eyes and his throat tightened, mouth slowly stretching up into a wide smile until all he could do was accept short, breathless kisses from Blaine.  

“Are you okay?” Blaine murmured, drawing back slightly to look deep into Kurt’s eyes.

“Perfect,” Kurt whispered, absently playing with the curls at the nape of Blaine’s neck as his breathing levelled out. He pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face back into his now familiar spot just behind Blaine’s ear. 

Blaine pulled back again, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Kurt’s ear before replacing it on his side with a squeeze. “It was an honour, Kurt Hummel, to be a part of your first two kisses.”

Kurt moved forward to nudge his nose against Blaine’s. “And my third,” Kurt said, resting his forehead against Blaine’s with a smirk. 

Blaine sniffed, lifting his chin and tightening his arms around Kurt’s waist. “That’s mighty presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

Kurt grinned and pressed his lips again and again to Blaine’s mouth and cheeks in chaste kisses, only pulling back murmur into Blaine’s mouth, “Isn’t it?”

Blaine blinked at him, his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and Kurt couldn’t help but surge forward again, pulling Blaine in with a hand buried in his curls and capturing his bottom lip between his own. Blaine whimpered and pressed into him, and Kurt couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave these arms again. 


	18. Chapter 18

Kurt didn’t feel time passing as they stood wrapped around one another, trading soft kisses and gentle caresses. There were no more words uttered - there was no need, just quiet hums pressed into lips filling the room with hushed sounds of assurance and want and complete contentment. 

Blaine kept his arms locked around Kurt’s waist, their bodies pressed flush against one another so that Kurt could feel Blaine’s every movement like it was an extension of himself. Blaine ran his fingers down Kurt’s side and settled on his hips, winding their way under his hoodie and trailing a hot blaze across his bare skin.

“You’re not wearing a t-shirt underneath?” Blaine murmured into Kurt’s lips, his voice low and gravelly, sending a dizzying swoop through Kurt’s stomach. 

The heat in Kurt’s cheeks flared up, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Are you complaining?”

Blaine rubbed his thumbs into the warm flesh just under the hem. “God no,” he breathed. He brought a hand up to cradle Kurt’s face, his touch cherishing and sure, his gaze steady and encompassing. Kurt leant into the touch, his head tilting forward and to the side to look down at Blaine through heavily-lidded eyes. 

They kissed, slowly and with no thought to anything outside of their small, shared space of tangled limbs and mingled gasps. Everything that had built up within Kurt over the past few days felt like it had been released, as if all the knots that had been squeezing and tugging at him tighter and tighter until he was struggling to breathe had slipped free in one easy motion. 

Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck, running a hand up through his hair. He brushed their lips together once, twice, three times more before pulling away a fraction of an inch to lean his head against Blaine’s. He carded his hand absently through the wild curls, winding wispy tendrils around his fingers as he cradled Blaine’s head into the side of his neck. Blaine tilted his head to press a stream of kisses along Kurt’s neck, his breath hot and sharp on Kurt’s touch-starved skin. 

Blaine’s stomach rumbled loudly. Kurt huffed a laugh, dropping his forehead to Blaine’s shoulder.

“Moment ruiner,” he murmured.

Blaine scrunched up his face in embarrassment, closing his eyes and pouting his lips so that Kurt couldn’t resist pressing another quick kiss to them.

Blaine relaxed into a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess we forgot about breakfast,” he said, eyeing the tray on the nightstand with remorse.

“It’s just fruit, it’ll still be fine,” Kurt said, winding their fingers together and dragging Blaine over to the bed. He glanced back and saw Blaine dip and shake his head at the floor, a small but beautifully formed smile playing around his lips. Kurt’s stomach flipped at the sight, giving a tug on Blaine’s hand so that he collapsed down onto the bed next to him.

Kurt plumped up the pillows behind him and settled again them, patting the bed next to him in invitation. Blaine obediently scooted back to sit next to Kurt, looking up at him through his eyelashes before edging closer to mold their sides tightly together. 

They ate in comfortable silence, their hands automatically sliding towards each other to clasp together once more. Kurt was sure that there must a ridiculous, giddy smile on his face and his eyes had probably gone all squinty, but he found he didn’t really care. He kept flicking his eyes to Blaine, the warmth along his side not quite enough to reassure him that he _was_ there, that it _had_ happened. 

He ran his gaze over the delicate fluttering of Blaine’s long eyelashes, contrasting so enchantingly with the strength of his arms and the line of his jaw. His undershirt lay rumpled and bunched up on his shoulders and chest. Kurt’s hand twitched. He wanted to touch, he wanted to feel. He bit his lip and shook his head to himself, raising his eyes to look back at Blaine’s face.

Blaine was staring straight back. He squeezed his hand and tipped his lips up in a gentle smile and a silent reassurance that it was _okay._ That Kurt _could_ look. 

Kurt dropped his gaze to their hands. One thing at a time.

After breakfast, they shimmied down the bed to lie facing each other, curled up on top of the covers. Their hands lay, still woven, in the small gap between them, Blaine seeming to understand that Kurt needed the connection. Or maybe he needed it just as much as Kurt did. 

Kurt rubbed the side of his face into the pillow, tipping his chin up to look directly at Blaine. “Thank you for coming to get me last night.” He spoke in a low hushed voice, trying not to disturb the air around them. It still felt fragile and vulnerable, liable to shatter at any moment. 

Blaine pressed soothing circles into his hand with his thumb. “I was worried about you. And God, if I’d known you’d never been to Scandals before I would have been ten times more worried.” Kurt narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to retort but Blaine got there first. “I know you can look after yourself, but some of the guys there looked really creepy. And huge.”

“I could have taken them down,” Kurt muttered. “If I’d really wanted.”

“Of course you could have,” Blaine said, with a placating and maybe a little patronising nod.

 Kurt frowned again, reaching with his free hand to prod Blaine in the stomach. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Blaine grinned and shuffled a little closer to Kurt so that their hands were pressed between their chests. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“No,” Kurt said with a stern glare, which lost a little of it’s intensity due to the fact that Blaine was now nose to nose with him. “I would hope not.”

Blaine ran his thumb across Kurt’s cheekbone, watching Kurt with a soft smile. Kurt stared straight back, blinking slowly.

“So,” Blaine said quietly. “I spoke to your dad last night, after you had, um, crashed. He seemed to think you’d been to Scandals before?”

Kurt closed his eyes with a sigh. Blaine stayed where he was, waiting patiently for Kurt to scramble his thoughts together. He still felt jumbled and a little disorientated, but he needed to say the right thing. More than that, he knew he needed to say the _honest_ thing.

“My dad…” Kurt started, steadying himself in the security of Blaine’s eyes. “He doesn’t get shocked easily.”

Blaine kept silent, seeming to anticipate more from Kurt, but Kurt couldn’t figure out the words. 

He reached up to fold his hand around Blaine’s. “Can we please not talk about my dad right now?”

“Of course,” Blaine said. “Sorry, I just-. Was wondering. That’s all.”

“It’s okay.” He turned Blaine’s hand over to weave their fingers together, deliberately skimming his fingers down the soft lines of his palm. Blaine shivered against him. Kurt gave a sly smile and tipped his head forward so that their lips were millimetres apart. “So can we get back to the kissing now?”

Blaine’s eyes seemed to melt into dark pools of liquid heat in front of him. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yes, I think that sounds like an excellent plan.”

Kurt grinned and leaned forward to seal the gap between them, his eyes sliding shut and his heart thumping in his chest.

 

*

 

A little while after, Kurt stood back in front of the mirror in his bathroom, scowling at his hair. Since he had been… otherwise occupied whilst it had dried, it was now a disastrous mixture of limp and lifeless and frizzy. He looked like a twelve year old. He squared his jaw and let out a breath of air so that his fringe wafted up, exposing the pink highlights at the front. 

Make that a twelve-year-old on crack.

As soon as Blaine had gathered up their breakfast things and taken them downstairs, waffling about ‘being a proper guest’ or something - Kurt hadn’t bee able to pay attention due to the path Blaine’s hand had been trailing down his spine, Kurt had darted into the bathroom, fearing the worst.

But beyond the admittedly horrendous condition of his hair, he didn’t look all that bad. He brought his fingertips to his cheeks, still flushed red and hot to the touch. His lips were kiss-swollen and deep red, his eyes bright, alive and sparkling.

He couldn’t even be mad about his hair. How could he when the way in which it had ended up like this was so heart-poundingly wonderful? The way Blaine had ruffled it up with his broad hands and then smoothed it down, pulling him closer, deeper and then pushing him away to change the angle of their lips. 

Yeah, he could live with that.

He ducked his head with a grin, reaching for the product on the shelf. 

 

*

 

Kurt ambled down the stairs, a smile still playing around his lips, which spread rapidly as he heard Blaine humming to himself in the kitchen. He checked his hair once more in the mirror in the hall and moved over to the door to the kitchen, pausing when he saw Blaine, now (much to Kurt’s disappointment) fully-dressed in his tightest tight jeans and polo shirt, dancing around on bare feet, completely oblivious to Kurt’s presence. 

Blaine twirled around, a spoon clutched in his hand, freezing mid-spin as he spotted Kurt in the doorway, arms folded, eyebrows raised and a teasing glint in his eye. “Is this a thing I’m going to have to get used to with you? Springing into a dance at any given opportunity?”

Blaine shrugged, giving Kurt a long and thoughtful look before completing his aborted spin and beginning to shimmy his way across the kitchen towards Kurt. Kurt rolled his eyes, which seemed to spur Blaine on, his dance moves getting more and more extravagant and he began to sing, properly this time, using the spoon as a microphone. Kurt immediately recognised _Blue Suede Shoes,_ and even if he hadn’t, Blaine’s alarmingly accurate Elvis impression would have given it away. Blaine leant his head into the ‘microphone’ and flung out an arm behind him, looking up to give him a cheeky wink before spinning off around the island again.

Blaine kept up his act throughout the whole song, finishing with a slide on the floor towards Kurt, his head falling to his chest after the final beat. 

Kurt stood for a moment, eyes wide and smile even wider as Blaine breathed heavily in front of him. 

“You-,“ Kurt started, shaking his head and pushing off the door to pull Blaine into his arms. “Idiot.”

“In a good way?” Kurt could hear the smile in Blaine’s voice. 

“In a good way,” he confirmed.

“Hey,” Blaine said, pulling back to scrutinise Kurt through narrowed eyes. “You did your hair. That’s not allowed. If you get to do yours then I get to do mine as well.”

Kurt’s hand flew to his hair instinctively. “What? I didn’t do anything to my hair. And it’s not my fault I don’t own any hair gel. The things it does to your hair, Blaine.”

“But it’s gone all afro-y and your’s looks flawless,” Blaine whined, jutting out his bottom lip. 

“I like your hair like this,” Kurt said, wrapping both his arms around Blaine neck again to run his hands through his hair. “It’s cute.”

“Not fair,” Blaine said, crossing his arms petulantly.

Kurt pressed his lips together to attempt to suppress his amusement. “So how could I make this up to you, huh?” he asked, raising his eyes to ceiling in thought. “What could I possibly do to make up for this?”

Blaine shrugged defiantly, keeping his arms in a firm grip across his chest. Kurt lowered his chin to look down at Blaine through his lashes. “Anything come to mind? Anything at all?”

A flush rose to Blaine’s cheeks and a smile tugged at his lips. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “And you say you’ve never done this before,” he muttered. 

Kurt’s smile faltered. “Are you-. Is this too much? I was only-“

“Hey, hey, no,” Blaine interrupted, unlocking his arms and sliding them around Kurt’s waist. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. You’re just so good.” He ran his hands down Kurt’s back. “I like it. Trust me.”

“Well alright then,” Kurt said breathlessly.

He leant forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s lips, relaxing into it like they had never stopped. Blaine slid his hand up to cup the back of his neck, keeping him pressed against him. He parted his lips and tilted his head slightly to the side to deepening the kiss. 

He darted out his tongue to trace over Blaine’s bottom lip, hesitantly at first and then with more certainty as a quiet, desperate sound escaped Blaine’s throat. His mouth opened in response and Blaine brought both of his hands around to clutch at Kurt’s face. 

Kurt groaned as Blaine sucked gently on the tip of his tongue, pressing him back until they both staggered across the kitchen. Their legs were tangled but they both refused to break the kiss until Blaine was pushed the island. Kurt gave a sharp breath, his chest heaving and his heart pounding in his ears, and pressed straight back against him. Blaine looked up at him through eyes half-lidded with pleasure, his hair sticking up even more and his cheeks glowing. 

Their lips met again, slower and already open. Blaine slipped his tongue into Kurt’s mouth. They both let out startled moans of pleasure as it slid over the small metal ball of his piercing. Blaine ran the tip of his tongue around it and Kurt felt like he was spiralling along the same path. He could feel Blaine on every inch of his skin, his heady scent filling his nose, breathing warm air deep in his lungs. He dug his fingers back into Blaine’s hair, trying to tell him to _keep doing that_ , _oh my god._

The front door slammed.

Kurt froze and Blaine pulled his head back sharply, his eyes glazed over. His breath was hot on Kurt’s face, lips plump and wet and looking thoroughly debauched. Kurt couldn’t imagine that he looked any better, if the buzzing through his lips and the heat still ricocheting around his body was anything to go by. 

But Kurt couldn’t even react to that because _shit shit shit_ his dad was currently walking down the hallway.

He pushed himself off Blaine with wobbly arms and leant against the counter next to him. He ran his hands carefully around his body, pulling his hoodie down where Blaine had rucked it up and attempting to return his hair to a reasonably controlled state. He glanced at Blaine.

He was still looking shell-shocked, his eyes dark and his hair wild. Slowly, he lowered his arms to wrap them around his body, first one way and then the other as if unsure how his limbs were supposed to fit together now that Kurt had left their warm circle.

A voice cleared its throat in the doorway and they both turned their heads sharply.

“Boys,” Burt said slowly, looking between them. 

“Hello, Mr-, Um.” Blaine blinked rapidly. Kurt could see the effort Blaine was making to jog his mind into gear and form coherent words. Kurt could sympathise. “Hello.”

Burt raised his eyebrows. “Everything alright here?”

“Yes, fine, fine,” Blaine said, awareness flickering gradually into his eyes. “Everything’s great, thank you.”

Kurt bit his cheek to hide his smile. 

“Okay, good.”

Kurt felt the eyes of his father on him for another moment before Burt rocked back on his heels and set off towards the fridge. He grabbed a beer and turned back to them.

“Kurt, you remember Mrs Jefferson?” He looked to Kurt for a reaction. Kurt half-shrugged one shoulder. Blaine shifted next to him so that their arms were pressed together again and Kurt itched to close the gap even more. “The batty old lady with the 1966 Coronet?” Kurt didn’t respond. Burt barreled on, talking about this Mrs Jefferson as if he would be interested in who the hell Mrs Jefferson was and what the hell had happened to her car. 

Blaine was nodding along politely to whatever Burt was saying, occasionally glancing at Kurt with an amused expression on his face. Kurt sighed in irritation, his jaw clenching. 

“Dad,” he said, stopping his father mid-flow. “I don’t care. We’re going upstairs.”

He resisted the temptation to reach for Blaine’s hand and walked straight out into the hallway, Blaine trailing after him, a little uncertainty in his step.

 

*

 

Blaine followed Kurt through the hallway. Once on the stairs, Kurt reached back for Blaine’s hand, gripping his fingers tightly. Tension was rolling off Kurt’s stiff shoulders, his hand jerking as he pulled Blaine along.

That was the thing about Kurt. He had the ability to go from open and compassionate to completely closed-off and distant in about three seconds flat. And frustrating and confusing as it was, Blaine knew it wasn’t his place to call him out on that. 

Blaine felt a little jittery himself; the events of the past few days had exhausted him, too. He settled on the edge of Kurt’s bed, watching as Kurt reached into a drawer and pulled out an ashtray. Blaine opened his mouth but promptly closed it again when Kurt moved over to the window and shoved it open, leaning out into the quiet afternoon. It was only the afternoon. It felt like years had gone by since Rachel’s party, and yet it had all happened in the blink of an eye.

Kurt rested his elbows on the sill and brought the cigarette to his lips. The flash of the lighter illuminated a gleam of confusion and something like elation in his eyes, but it dimmed before Blaine could make any sense of what that meant.

Everything still felt up in the air and Blaine felt completely out of control of whether it would float away in the wind to never be spoken of again, or be grasped with both hands and cradled closely to their chests. He had said his piece.

“I’m sorry he walked in like that,” Kurt said, still staring out of the window. “I had completely forgotten about him.”

“That’s fine,” Blaine replied, studying Kurt carefully. “I mean, I was all for continuing, but maybe it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Kurt turned to him, smoke pouring from the side of his mouth. His eyes searched Blaine’s face, a vulnerability entering them. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that maybe we shouldn’t be diving straight in to…stuff like that,” Blaine said. “Maybe we should sort out what this even is first. And I really don’t want to push you, or anything. Or make you feel like you have to play a certain role.”

Kurt shifted his elbows and tapped out some of the ash into the ashtray with a long, elegant finger. He took his time, watching the ash fall from the end of the cigarette into the glass ashtray in a heap.

“I want us to be boyfriends,” Kurt said quietly. “I thought that was clear.”

Blaine felt incredibly shy all of a sudden. He raised his shoulders a little and let them fall, the corners of his lips stretching outwards. “Um, no, not, um, completely clear. At least to me.”

“All the kissing didn’t give it away?” Kurt said, with a wry half-smile.

“Well,” Blaine said, blood rushing to his cheeks. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, exactly.”

Kurt shot him an incredulous look and stumped out his cigarette, walking across the room with his eyes firmly on Blaine’s. He reached for his hands and pulled him to his feet. Blaine looked up at him. 

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt said, running his thumbs over the backs of Blaine’s hands. “Would you be my boyfriend?”

Blaine let out a shaky breath, his heart galloping in his chest and his legs feeling weak beneath him but for the first time in a long while, his mind felt clear. He squeezed Kurt’s hands tightly and then let go of one of them, reaching up graze his fingers down the side of Kurt’s neck. “It would be my pleasure,” he said with a lop-sided smile. “Yes.”

Kurt responded with a dazzling smile, all teeth and dimples and shimmering eyes. Blaine thought he had never seen him look more beautiful. Blaine tilted his chin up and pressed a soft kiss to his smiling lips.

They spent the rest of the afternoon tucked up and curled around each other in Kurt’s room. They kept things light, listening to music and talking quietly as they resumed their spot on the bed, nose to nose, hands never leaving hands and hazel never leaving blue. It was perfect.

Eventually, Burt knocked on the door, talking at them through the thick wood.

“Time to leave,” Blaine murmured to Kurt.

Kurt shook his head into the pillow and pulled Blaine closer. “Nope.”

Blaine smiled. “Kurt I have to go, I haven’t even started my homework yet.”

“Homework schmomework. You’ve got a boyfriend here who wants to be with you. Are you going to pass that opportunity up? Really?”

Blaine groaned and peeled himself away from Kurt’s embrace. “You can’t play the boyfriend card. That’s not fair.”

Kurt just grinned with an evil glint in his eye, making grabby hands for Blaine to come back. Blaine had to force himself to get up off the bed. 

He pulled Kurt up with him, who grumbled under his breath the whole time. “I would stay if I could, but I should really go.” He reached up to Kurt’s cheek, running this thumb across his cheekbones and curling his fingers around. With a smile, he leant up to press a gentle kiss to Kurt’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

He sent Kurt one more warm smile and walked over to the door. He turned back, just for a second, and saw Kurt lift a hand to touch the spot Blaine had just kissed, a reverent look on his face. Blaine’s heart fluttered in his chest and he ducked reluctantly out of the room.


	19. Chapter 19

Blaine arrived at school early on Monday morning, his outfit painstakingly picked out and hair carefully styled, a spry spring in his step as he skipped up to his locker from the parking lot. His phone chimed cheerily from his pocket as he pulled his locker open, and his heart skipped as he dug it out, knowing exactly who it was going to be from.

_From: Kurt (7.34 am)  
Lunch today? Somewhere private? x_

Blaine grinned dopily down at the screen. Another text swooped in before he could reply.

_I am a definitely a fan of today’s polo, by the way._

Blaine’s eyebrows shot up and he immediately lifted his head to give a quick scan of the length of the corridor. He frowned when he couldn’t see Kurt anywhere. 

“Dude!”

Blaine twisted around to see Mike jogging towards him, his books wedged under his arm. Blaine smiled at him and turned back to his locker to grab his American History textbook.

“Dude, how are you?” Mike asked breathlessly as he came to a stand still in front of Blaine. “Are you okay?”

Blaine squinted at him in confusion. “Um, I’m fine? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“After the party, man? You were pretty upset.” 

_Right_ , the last time Mike had spoken to him was outside Rachel’s party. Just as Blaine was opening his mouth to answer, the double doors at the end of the corridor banged open and Kurt strode through them. Blaine’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide and jaw slack as Kurt strode down the hallway towards him, chin tipped up and shoulders rolled back, accentuating the strong line of his jaw.

Blaine snapped his mouth shut and swallowed thickly as Kurt approached. The chains hanging from his jeans jangled together with every step and the heavy fall of his boots on the linoleum pulsed through Blaine with every step. The collar of his cut-off denim jacket was popped and he had a shredded scarf wrapped around his neck, the loose corner fluttering behind him. 

He caught sight of Blaine and a smirk crept across his face. Blaine ducked his head to attempt to hide the flush spreading to his cheeks and he rubbed a hand over his forehead. He glanced back up. Kurt’s eyes were locked on his, his lips softening into a gentle smile. There was a tug in Blaine’s chest and he ached to reach out and wrap an arm around his waist. 

“Blaine!”

Blaine blinked and turned back to Mike. He was giving Blaine a knowing look, his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Did something happen with Kurt?”

Blaine flicked his eyes instinctively back to Kurt, who was now almost level with them. Kurt cocked his head at the mention of his name, darkness flickering across his face. He gave Blaine a small, sharp shake of the head and continued on down the hallway past Blaine and Mike and into his homeroom.

Blaine stared after him, his heart sinking. Worry churned low in his stomach, his brain already conjuring up ten different reasons as to why Kurt wouldn’t want people to know about them.

“Kurt and I are friends, Mike,” Blaine said in a low voice, lowering his gaze to stuff his books into his bag. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in Glee.”

He rushed off before Mike could say another word. 

 

*

 

Blaine found Kurt at lunch in a sheltered spot under the bleachers, chin tucked under the lip of his scarf and eyes fixed on the underside of the steps, where a thin strap of fabric was slapping against the metal in the wind. Kurt dug his hands deeper into his pockets and huddled into his jacket, one leg propped up on the wall behind him. 

His face lit up when he saw Blaine. He pushed off the wall and waited for Blaine to meet him, a corner of his mouth tipped up into a gentle smile. Blaine returned it tentatively at first, but it bloomed quickly into a grin as Kurt continued to look at him in that same disarming way he had the day before. Blaine rushed the last few steps to meet him in a breathless kiss. He reached forward to cradle Kurt’s jaw in his hands, the skin cool and soft under his fingers. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine under his jacket, rubbing his hands up and down his side in a bid to get warm.

“Hi,” Blaine whispered against Kurt’s lips. 

“Hi,” he said, tilting his head kiss him properly. Kurt slipped his arms up and over Blaine’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together.

Blaine lost himself in the feeling of Kurt against him, the firm press of his lips and reassuring weight of his arms on Blaine’s shoulders.  He felt safe and sure against the solidity of Kurt’s chest.

He pulled back before he could get completely lost in it, looking Kurt in the eyes and taking a deep breath. “Do you not want people to know about us?”

Kurt blinked in surprise at the sudden question, but didn’t move away. He searched the contours of Blaine’s face in question. “Does it matter to you?”

Blaine shifted his weight and let his hands slip down the sides of Kurt’s neck to rest on the strong ledge of his shoulders. “I guess that depends on the reason behind it.”

Kurt sighed, his shoulders dropping. He let his gaze drift away from Blaine’s eyes. “What if the reason is that I really don’t want the neanderthals that attend this school to have any kind of an impact on our relationship?” He stumbled on the last word, flicking his eyes back to look at Blaine. Blaine quirked a small smile of reassurance and ran his thumb up the tendon of Kurt’s neck and tucked it under the edge of Kurt’s beanie. Kurt shivered visibly at the touch. “I just don’t want anyone other than us to have a say,” Kurt said softly. “And that includes the Glee club.” He lowered his chin to look down at Blaine appraisingly through his lashes. “It’s not that I’m ashamed of you, or whatever else it was that I know you were conjuring up about how I feel.”

Blaine let out a surprised huff of laughter and looked away bashfully. “Think you know me so well, huh?”

Kurt gave a smug smile. “I _know_ I know you so well.” He tightened his arms around Blaine’s neck. “For instance, I know that right now you really want to kiss me.”

“Oh, really?” Blaine asked with a coquettish tilt of his head.

Kurt nodded, an all-too pleased with himself glint in his eye. 

Blaine shifted the pad of his thumb to run down the shell of Kurt’s ear, his soft, smooth skin punctuated with cold and unyielding metal. He let out a breath, a flush rising to his cheeks as he remembered the shock of Kurt’s tongue piercing in the otherwise soft of his mouth. The sudden pool of heat that had welled in his stomach as Kurt had moaned against him and pulled him impossibly closer.

Blaine blinked and looked up at Kurt, unable to keep the burning intensity from his gaze. “Seeing as I pretty much always want to kiss you, that doesn’t take a genius to figure out.”

Kurt grinned, leaning into Blaine’s touch. “Still true, though,” he said, and bent forward to nudge his nose against Blaine’s. 

 

*

 

As November slipped into December, to anyone else it might look like nothing changed. Kurt still kept a careful display of nonchalant disinterest at school and still abided by his firm disregard of the rules and expectations McKinley had always tried to force on him. Headphones molded to his head, he still spoke to no-one in the corridors.

But to Kurt, everything was different. 

School was now lingering glances and furtive smiles volleyed from one end of the corridor to another between classes. It was lunch periods full of soft smiles and gentle touches, hands always seeking hands before lips brushed against waiting lips. Words flowed effortlessly between them, sometimes fast and gabbled and in a great rush to excitedly pass on as much information to each other as quickly as possible, but just as easily they might be quiet and slow, low murmurings lost quickly in the wind to all but themselves.

Kurt could always feel the pull in his chest to be near Blaine, to be _with_ Blaine. He had half expected it to dampen slightly over time but if anything it was becoming greater as they unfurled and unfolded around each other. From exchanging small tentative smiles to wide and familiar grins, slowly, slowly they began learning each other inside out. Kurt cherished each new nugget of information about Blaine and held it close; the way he ate so carefully and boxed so hard, nerded out over new releases of comic books and talked rapturously of his days spent at music camp.

During Glee Kurt prowled the corridors of McKinley. On the days he knew Blaine had a solo he hovered in the hallway outside the choir room, ostensibly scanning the myriad of posters on the walls with his headphones on. In reality his eyes were closed and his iPod off as he let the smooth timbre of Blaine’s voice wash over him.

He didn’t know if Blaine knew he listened to him. Sometimes the song choice was too opportune, too fitting for the moment that Kurt felt Blaine was speaking directly to him. Whether it be a soft ballad or an upbeat pop song, with the help of music Blaine always knew exactly what to say and when to say it. Blaine expressed himself through music so honestly and so earnestly and in such startling contrast to the hesitant way in which he so often spoke, that Kurt came to understand that this was the way Blaine wanted to be heard. This was the way he interpreted his emotions and then laid them bare for anyone to see. Kurt’s heart swelled with pride every time he listened in.

Kurt never asked him about it, and Blaine never brought it up. It was an unspoken connection between them, a communication more than words or language on their own could convey, and it meant so much to Kurt that he knew he would never mention it with Blaine for fear of losing it. 

They met after Glee Club at Blaine’s car and retreated back to Kurt’s empty house as soon as they could. Kurt cherished the time they had together before his dad got home. It was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Blaine. They still did everything they had done before.  They watched movies and brilliantly terrible reality TV shows, listened to music, did their homework. But now they could lie wrapped up in each other on the couch, or share earphones instead of connecting the speakers, heads bent close together, or sit on the floor with knees brushing, books scattered around them as they worked.

But where his relationship with Blaine was evolving and growing every day, things with his dad had reached a plateau. Or at least, they had in Kurt’s book. Burt was still trying to engage Kurt in everything he did, involve him in conversations and activities that Kurt really couldn’t give a single fuck about. He invited Carole around to dinner, kept Kurt working at the garage, but Kurt never broke, not even to display is displeasure. He never spoke a word.

It was a whole lot easier to not give a shit when you have something else so wonderful to distract you. 

And Blaine was never more than a text message away. Kurt spent those dinners glued to his phone, and he was surprised that his father never commented. He thought that phones at the table would be against one of his new ‘I’m going to be a flawless, hands on father’ rules. Instead, the expression on Burt’s face was soft, a sadness in his eyes but a corner of his mouth tipped up in a gratified smile.

Whenever he caught the tail-end of one of these looks, something squirmed uncomfortably in Kurt’ stomach. He couldn’t place the feeling and pushed it aside, choosing to focus on the incoming texts instead.

 

*

 

One afternoon just a couple of weeks before Christmas, Blaine collapsed back onto the sofa in the Hummel living room, dragging a reluctant Kurt with him.

“Blaine,” Kurt whined. “I wanted to have a smoke before we sat down.”

Blaine clasped his arms around Kurt, tugging them down so that they lay across the couch, just the top of Kurt’s back propped up on the cushions behind them. “Nope,” he said, wiggling around so that his shoulder was tucked under Kurt’s arm and he could look up into Kurt’s eyes. “Not allowed. I require immediate cuddles.”

Kurt curled his arm around Blaine properly and tangled their legs together. “Any particular reason?” he asked, reaching for Blaine’s hand. “Not that you need one.”

Blaine regarded Kurt closely, pursing his lips together in indecision. He settled his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “It’s just something we were talking about in Glee.” He flicked his gaze back up at Kurt. His expression was unreadable.

Kurt sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did they say?”

“It’s just-,” Blaine started. He rubbed his lips together nervously. Kurt waited patiently for him to continue. “We were talking about The Future, and all the seniors were talking about what they’re doing next year.” He bit his lip as he paused again. “I realised I have no idea what you want to do after school but I’m guessing it doesn’t involve staying in Lima, I mean, you’re not exactly on the Ohio Tourist Board.” Kurt snorted in amusement. “I was just… sad, I guess. I know it’s ridiculous.”

Kurt shifted against him. “It’s not ridiculous,” he said, squeezing his hand. “But you have to understand that I can’t, like really literally _can’t_ stay here. Not for a second longer than I have to.”

He tightened his grip around Kurt’s waist. It wasn’t like he could have expected Kurt to wait around for him. Kurt had always been clear that this place was hell for him. But that didn’t stop Blaine hoping that _he_ might be enough of a reason for Kurt to want to stay around, just for another year. Apparently that had been a naive fantasy.

“Where are you going?” he whispered.

“New York,” Kurt said without hesitation, an edge of wistfulness and breathlessness to his voice. 

Blaine nodded slowly into Kurt’s chest. “Me too. You know, in a year’s time.”

Kurt smiled down at him. “I know.”

“So, nothing has to change?” Blaine asked tentatively, his heart beating fast in anticipation.

“Nothing has to change.”

Blaine gave a satisfied hum and twisted his fingers into the thin jersey of Kurt’s t-shirt. He leant up to press a kiss to the underside of Kurt’s jaw and snuggled down next to him. “I’m still requiring those cuddles, though.”

“Alright,” Kurt laughed. “I’ll allow it.”

They settled, their breathing evening out as they lay pressed against each other. The small pleased smile wouldn’t leave Blaine’s face. There was no much left unsaid, but the implication that Kurt was already sure that they would still be together in over a year when he would move to New York was enough to leave Blaine giddy and breathless with excitement.

The house phone rang. “Just ignore it,” Kurt said, reaching for the remote. “It won’t be for me.”

Kurt turned on the TV, and sure enough the phone stopped ringing. After a small scuffle over who was in the charge of what they were watching, they settled down to watch BRAVO.

A few minutes later, the sharp tone of the phone interrupted them once more.

Kurt sagged into the couch with a heaving sigh and pushed himself up to sit properly on the couch as he reached for the phone. 

“What?” he barked into the phone. Blaine slowly shifted to sit up next to him and tucked his feet up under himself. He sat quietly as Kurt tapped the phone impatiently with his finger.

“This is he. What do you want?”

Kurt’s body froze, all his muscles tensing at once. Blaine sat forward in alarm and watched helplessly as a thousand emotions flicked across Kurt’s face in a millisecond, gone before he could place them. Kurt pressed the heel of his hand hard into his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. His face was contorted, tortured, an intolerable pain disfiguring his usually smooth features. 

But then, in one clear motion, it all dropped away, leaving Kurt’s face void of any expression, of any emotion. He opened his eyes. Just a short while ago they had been sparkling blue with life, but now were dull and grey.

“Is he dead?” Kurt asked in a flat voice.

Blaine’s breath stuttered in his throat and he reached blindly for Kurt’s hand. He held it tightly between both of his own, trying to let Kurt know he was there. But Kurt didn’t move a muscle.

“Is there any point? I can’t do anything there,” Kurt said into the phone. He sounded almost bored.

Blaine rubbed his hands over Kurt’s, but he was stiff and unyielding under Blaine’s touch. 

“Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

Kurt put down the phone hung up the phone with a jerk of his thumb and threw it to the other side of the couch. Blaine found himself holding his breath, the house deathly quiet around them as he waited so Kurt to say anything, do anything.

Kurt cleared his throat, and spoke in a low, expressionless voice, “My dad had a heart attack. Take me to the hospital, please?”


	20. Chapter 20

Debbie checked Mr Hummel’s vitals once more before tucking the chart back into its folder and then bade him a cheery goodbye, talking to him in the same natural and friendly manner that she had grown into the habit of doing with all her comatose patients. It was a routine that she had developed all the way back in nursing school - hours and hours spent with silent patients always left her with a crawling sense of unease, so she spoke to them as if they were awake, letting them know if she was going to check something on them, chatting away about the current celebrity mishaps and her children’s various exploits. She closed the door gently behind her to leave him in relative peace.

She bustled down the corridor back towards the entrance of the ward. It had been a reasonably quiet day so far, with just the one new patient being admitted during her shift. She handed the folder to Annie on the front desk.

“Mr Hummel’s chart,” she said with a smile. Annie nodded absently and shoved it back in its place in the drawers to her left without so much as shifting her gaze from the screen in front of her.

“Any sign of the family yet?” Debbie asked.

“Hm? No. His son’s on his way.”

Debbie nodded, casting her eyes around the waiting room. She caught sight of poor old Mrs Peters in the corner, dutifully waiting to see her husband as she had done every single day since he had been admitted all those months ago. Debbie sent her a warm smile and ducked behind the desk, sinking gratefully into a chair. Just a few precious seconds off her weary feet and she’d be ready to go home. She leant back, stretching out her legs in front of her and closing her eyes.

“I thought you were off today anyway?” Annie asked after a few minutes.

Debbie let out a slow breath of air, running and tired hand over her face. “I’m covering for Carole,” she said, her voice muffled from behind her hand. 

Annie span around in her chair to face Debbie, her eyes lighting up. “Ooooh, does she have a date with her boytoy?”

Debbie let her hands fall to the arms of the chair and smiled, remembering the excitement written plainly all over her friend’s face when she had asked Debbie to cover for her. “A bit later on this evening, I think. I couldn’t say no when she asked me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her this happy.”

Annie smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Because she’s been getting some for the first time in years.” 

“Annie,” Debbie scolded.

Annie shrugged. “What? It’s true. She needed a bit of manly attention, if you know what I mean.”

“Everyone always knows what you mean, Annie,” Debbie said dryly, sending her an appraising look. She let a tiny sparkle enter her eyes and Annie grinned at her before swivelling back to face her computer, pressing a button on the switchboard in front of her and speaking into her earpiece, “Good afternoon, this is the ICU at Lima Memorial, how can I help you?”

Debbie gave a small shake of the head and leant forward on her elbows. The waiting room was still quiet, the TV on the wall muted and displaying the delayed subtitles from FOX News. Mrs Peters had got her knitting out, her hands shaking but her stitch steady. 

Debbie glanced up as the main door to the ward swung open and two boys entered. The one in front was dark-haired and shorter than the other, lines of worry etched into his face. He glanced back at the other boy in what looked like a nervous tick, as if he was constantly checking he was there.

Debbie propped herself up on her elbows with interest. The second boy sauntered over behind the first, this one tall and lithe. He wore tight black jeans and a loose, ripped v-neck which was covered with a distressed denim jacket and a pair of headphones slung around his neck. His face was completely void of expression and his hand was running constantly back and forth through thick, multi-coloured hair. The dark-haired boy half-jogged over to the desk, but he paused to hover politely a few feet away when he saw that Annie was on the phone.

Debbie got to her feet and beckoned the boy over to her. “How can I help you?”

The boy smiled tightly and walked to her, clasping his fingers to the edge of the desk. “Hello,” he said. “Um, we’re looking for Burt Hummel, please?”

Debbie glanced between the two boys. The second had his hands wedged in his pockets and was staring blankly at the noticeboard behind her, his shoulders hunched forward. She turned back to the first boy, now chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

“Are you his son?” she asked kindly.

He raised his eyebrows sharply in surprise. “No, no. Kurt is,” he said quickly, gesturing at the other boy. “I’m Blaine. Kurt’s-, um-, Blaine.”

“Oh,” she said, a little taken aback. “Well, why don’t you two take a seat and I’ll get the doctor to come and see Kurt as soon as she can?”

“Thank you,” he said to her. He turned to Kurt and hesitated briefly, reaching out a hand to tug on his arm. “Come on,” he murmured gently. 

Kurt rolled his eyes and slumped down into the chair closest to him, legs splaying out in front of him. Blaine lowered himself down next to him, his back stiff and his feet folded together under the chair. She watched as Blaine’s eyes lingered on Kurt, wide and so full of tenderness and fear that Debbie wanted to wrap him up in her arms. Then she turned to Kurt, surprised to see complete passivity written all over his face.  She watched as he pulled his headphones on and sank down even further into his seat.

Debbie sat back behind the desk, reaching for the pager.

 

*

 

She caught sight of them a little later on in the corridor outside Mr Hummel’s room and slowed her pace to get a better look, a little surprised to see both of them talking to the doctor - unless under the express wish of an immediate family member, no-one else was usually a part of the consultation.

Kurt was still disengaged, staring blankly at a point above Dr Jackson’s head. Blaine was listening carefully, hanging onto the doctor’s every word and chipping in with the odd question. Debbie grimaced in sympathy at the lost look on Blaine’s face; there were no answers they could give confidently. All they could say was that he had suffered cardiac arrest and that he had fallen into a coma due to the CPR he had received at the scene. They could only wait. 

“Is there anyone else you need to call?” the doctor asked, just as Debbie was reluctantly turning the corner at the end of the corridor.

“No,” came the short answer in a flat voice. “There’s no-one else.”

 

*

 

When Debbie returned to Mr Hummel’s room after she had taken her dinner break that evening, Kurt was sitting on a chair in the far corner, away from the bed. He didn’t look up as she entered. His headphones were on, and Debbie wasn’t sure whether or not he knew she was there. The steady beat was audible to her, even from across the room. His face was a blank canvas, his mouth held tight but his posture loose. He was staring down at the iPod in his hands, aimlessly scrolling down and down and down.

She flipped open her chart with a little more vigour than was necessary, hoping to catch his attention. He blinked and slowly lifted his gaze, an unimpressed eyebrow already poised. Debbie smiled at him winningly and mimed for him to take off his headphones.  

Kurt rolled his eyes and roughly pushed the headphones to rest around his neck. 

“What?” he asked, a rough impatience saturating his tone.

“I just wanted to introduce myself properly,” she said. “Since I’m your dad’s nurse. I’m Debbie.”

He shrugged a shoulder and lowered his gaze back to the iPod, his thumb brushing down continually.

She took a small step towards him. “I don’t know exactly what the doctor told you, but if you have any questions feel free to ask me.”

He ignored her.

She didn’t even hesitate. “Your dad’s in great hands. Dr Jackson is the best in the field.”

Kurt gave a small snort of amusement.

Debbie raised her eyebrows a fraction. This was a difficult one. But then, if she had learnt anything in her twenty years as an ICU nurse, it was that everyone dealt with shock and trauma differently. She made herself give him a small, comforting smile. “Well, if there’s anything at all...”

Kurt looked up at her with a breath of a sigh. “For fuck’s sake, I don’t care. I don’t even want to be here.”

Debbie kept her smile on her face. “Okay,” she said. “Well, since you’re here, you could try talking to your dad. Studies have shown that coma patients can be comforted by the voice of a loved one, even if they aren’t consciously listening.” Kurt was looking at her in complete incredulity. She barreled on. “It might also help if you were to hold his hand.”

Kurt made a small noise of irritated disbelief. “Do I look like the touchy-feely type to you? Do I look like I want to be here? That’s all a load of bullshit you tell the pathetic wives and husbands and sons and daughters of people who are already circling the drain.” 

Kurt leant back in his chair, staring at her with clear provocation in his eye. Debbie studied him carefully, biting her lip.

“Your dad is in a serious condition, but he’s stable. However, his chances of waking up lower significantly after he’s been under for longer than 24 hours. So I suggest that you talk to him. It doesn’t even need to be about anything important. It really does help.” 

“Did you not get the message?” Kurt growled. “Fuck the hell off.” 

Debbie sighed, pulling out the chart and looking over it quickly. “Oh honey, you’ll have to do much better than that,” she said, running her eyes down the tables on the page. “I’ve been a nurse far too long for you to scare me away so easily.”

“Is that a challenge?” Kurt asked, lip curling.

Debbie shook her head lightly, a small smile still playing around her lips. “I was just letting you know that if it’s a reaction you’re after, you’re not going to get it from me,” she said lightly. She flipped the file shut, looking back at him. “Maybe you should take a few minutes, go get a coffee, whatever you want to do.”

Kurt squared his jaw, shifting it from side to side as he stared at her. He stood up in one fluid motion and strode out of the room, reaching as he went into his back pocket, fishing out what looked to be a pack of cigarettes. 

Debbie propped open door to call after him, “Kurt! The smoking area is outside of the front entrance on the right. Please don’t light that until you’re there.”

Kurt shoved the pack back into his pocket without looking around and turned on his heel, heading the other way down the corridor. Debbie let the door close and looked back down at the charts but found she was not really seeing them, her mind lingering instead on the lonely figure of a boy sat alone in a hospital room. 

She realised that in all of the time she had been in the room with him, Kurt had not once looked over at the bed.

 

*

 

A few minutes later, once Debbie had finished checking Mr Hummel over, she made her way back to the waiting room. 

Blaine was curled up on a chair in a corner, an arm wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees, speaking quietly to Kurt next to him. Kurt was low in his chair, head back against the wall and eyes closed, but he was clearly listening, moving his lips to answer Blaine every so often. They were sat close, but there was a small gap between them where their hands were clasped tightly together.

It was such a strange sight; the put-together, polite boy so earnestly looking into the cool blue eyes of the boy with the multi-coloured hair and many piercings. And even though Debbie couldn’t tell what on earth was running through the boy’s head from his expression, the way he was holding on so tightly to Blaine’s hand said more than enough.

 

*

 

When she arrived to check on Mr Hummel the next morning, Kurt was already in the hospital room, phone in hand and scowl in place. She sent him a cheery greeting and, unsurprisingly,, he didn’t reply.

“You’re here early this morning,” she said blithely. Kurt shrugged and muttered under his breath. Debbie thought she heard something about ‘missing school‘ and ‘worth it’. She suppressed a small smile of amusement at his need to excuse himself, and asked, “Has the doctor been in to seen you this morning?” 

He dipped his head once in assent, keeping his eyes on his phone. 

She hesitated for a moment, a question on her lips as she considered whether or not to try to engage him again. After a moment of studying his passive face, she closed her mouth with a snap and turned back to her charts. _Not her business._

She didn’t hear a sound from Kurt’s corner of the room as she made her assessments, and she managed to refrain from constantly looking around out of pure curiosity as to how he could just sit there like that, completely still, slunk low into the chair, his only movement a flicker of the eyes back and forth over his phone.

“I’m all done here,” she said after a few minutes, closing the file with a flourish. 

Kurt quirked his eyebrows. “Well, congratulations to you.”

She pressed her lips together in a tight smile, trying to keep it as reassuring as she could.

“Don’t do that,” Kurt said suddenly, his tone biting and his eyes gleaming into life. One of his hands moved across to rub at the leather cuff around his wrist.

“I’m sorry, what’s the problem?” Debbie asked.

“Those little ‘understanding’ smiles of yours,” Kurt said with a sneer. “They’re annoying as hell.”

Debbie let the smile fade. “I’m sorry if I upset you, but I only meant to put you at ease,” she said carefully.

Kurt scoffed. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered. “Well, don’t.”

Debbie bit her lip to keep in her sharp retort and gestured to the door with the file, deciding that the best thing to do was just move on. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Think about what I said about talking to your dad.”

Kurt only made a tiny noise of disinterest as he turned his attention back to his phone.

 

*

 

Kurt and Blaine were in their corner again, Debbie noted as she entered the waiting room later on in the afternoon. They were turned in towards each other, blocking out everyone else in the room apart from each other. Kurt had taken his boots off and was sat cross-legged sideways in his chair to face Blaine. His socked feet curled under his thighs, making him look younger than Debbie was used to seeing him. Because - and Debbie had to remind herself - he was just a kid. A kid who might very well lose his father.

She caught Kurt’s eye and he curled his lip up into a snarl, his lip-ring glinting in the light. His hand slipped out from where it was wound around Blaine’s to give her the finger across the waiting room. 

Debbie looked away quickly, busying the papers on the desk in front of her. She couldn’t help but glance back at them a moment later. Kurt had turned away from her, but Blaine was looking at her, his eyes wide and sad. His hand was firmly back in Kurt’s grip, and Debbie could see his other hand, the one closest to the wall, was  running gently up and down Kurt’s side in what seemed to be a subconscious gesture of comfort. His brow was furrowed as he stared at her accusatorily.

He looked back to Kurt and leant in to murmur to him, his lips brushing against the metal rings lining Kurt’s ear. Kurt gave a small roll of his eyes but nodded, untangling himself from their embrace and reached forward to pull on his boots. Blaine rubbed the small of his back as he slowly tied his laces, winding them up and up and up.

Kurt straightened up and strode across the room, nose in the air and a sneer playing about his features as he walked past Debbie without so much as looking at her. She watched the stiff movement of his back as he pushed open the door to his father’s room.

No sooner had the door clicked shut behind Kurt, the main doors of the ward burst open. A very flustered looking Carole rushed in, her eyes wild and searching. She angrily pushed back the hair falling across her face. Debbie recognised Carole’s son trailing behind her, pausing to hover awkwardly back by the doors. 

“Carole?” Debbie said in surprise. “Couldn’t keep away, even on your day off?”

“Burt,” Carole gasped, reaching forward to steady herself on the desk. “You’ve got a new patient, Burt Hummel. Where is he?”

“Mr Hummel? He came in yesterday. Why-, what’s wrong?”

“He’s-, that’s Burt. _My_ Burt. I only just found out,” she said, craning her neck to look down the hallway as if there would be a neon sign pointing her in the direction of Burt’s room. “Please, Debbie.”

Debbie placed her hand over Carole’s, her heart going out to her. After all this time, after all the misery that Carole had been going through for the last _eighteen years_ -. Debbie sighed. It was just so _cruel._ “His son’s in there now, Carole. Please, give me a minute. Let me just talk you through-.”

“He’s in there now? Kurt’s in there?” she demanded, a new gleam entering her eye. Debbie nodded cautiously. Carole pivoted on the spot and stormed towards the hospital room.

“Wait-,” Debbie called after her, rushing to keep up. But Carole ignored her plea, already halfway down the hallway. 


	21. Chapter 21

Kurt flopped into the all-too familiar chair in the corner of the room. He shifted, his legs jiggling up and down as he thrummed his fingers over and over against the arm of the chair. The soft _tap tap tap_ of his fingertips against the faux-leather was just audible over the loud whirrings from the other side of the room, subconsciously falling in time with the rhythmic clickings.

He propped himself up with one elbow, but that didn’t feel right, so he switched arms and scooted backwards in his chair to lean forward, staring intently down at the ground. He scuffed the vinyl tiles of the floor with his foot, the thick sole of his boots leaving satisfying grazes of black against the grain of the worn pattern.

He ground his teeth as the swooshing of the ventilator interrupted his thoughts. He was sick of this _fucking_ hospital and every _fucking_ person in it.

He was startled from his bitter reverie as the door banged open. A very red-faced Carole stood in the doorway, her eyes zoning in on him immediately. He settled carefully back in his chair, ignoring the thump of his heart in his chest.

“Carole,” he said with a small quirk of his eyebrows. “How nice of you to drop in. Can’t say it’s a pleasure.”

Carole clenched her hand around the door handle, steadying herself. She stood still for a moment, breathing heavily.

Kurt rolled his eyes as that irritating nurse came into view behind Carole and reached forward to tug on her sleeve. “Carole, honey, come on. Let’s just go talk in the nurse’s lounge for a sec.”

Carole shrugged her off and stepped into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice shook with either anger or emotion; Kurt couldn’t tell which. He found he didn’t really care.

He shrugged with a jerk of the shoulder and a twitch of his lips.

She swallowed forcefully and took another small prowling step towards him. “It’s been nearly _twenty-four hours_ since this happened.”

“Wow, has it really been that long?” Kurt said, in a bored, monotonous voice. “What can I say? Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Carole spluttered and looked away from him, running a shaky hand through her hair. Her eyes fell on the bed on the other side of the room. Kurt watched with a sense of detachment as her expression froze and then slipped, slowly at first, but then faster until it was falling with abandon, the lines on her face getting deeper and deeper as her now red-rimmed eyes roved over the prone figure on the bed. 

With a visible effort, she shifted her gaze back to Kurt. Kurt tilted his head to the side in silent challenge.

She sent him a pleading look. “Please, Kurt, don’t you think I at least deserved to know?”

Kurt regarded her for a moment. “No,” he replied coolly. 

She recoiled slightly, her head pulling back away from him in shock. “Kurt,” she rasped. She cleared her throat. “I get that we’re not close, that you don’t want me in your life. Trust me, I got that. And I understand that this must be so unimaginably _hard_ for you-”

“Bullshit,” Kurt interrupted bluntly. “You don’t understand anything about any of this. So don’t even try.”

A hard look came into Carole’s eye and she stepped forward once more, with purpose this time. “If you had bothered to get to know me, I think you would find that actually yes, I do understand quite a bit about this. I understand loss. I understand pain. I might not perfectly understand your situation, but I do understand what it’s like to have the most important person in your life wrenched away from you so hard and so sudden that you could swear that they’ve ripped away a huge part of you and taken it with them.”  

She continued to look at him imploringly. Kurt made sure to keep his expression blank. “Someone break out the violins; we’ve got a sob story up in here.”

Carole choked on a sob and took a step back, clenching a hand to her mouth.

“This man,” she said with a low shudder to her voice. “ _Your father_ , has been trying so hard with you. He’s been working himself to the bone for you. He’s strained himself every single day to try and makes things right. But you give him _nothing.”_

Kurt was frozen. He kept his eyes on the soles of his shoes in front of him. He could feel the hammering of his heart all the way to his fingertips and he gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his breathing steady.

Tears were leaking unchecked down Carole’s face but she made no more motions towards him.

“Mom?” a voice from the door asked. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Finn was hovering just outside the room next to the nurse. Kurt came unstuck and raised his eyes to the ceiling, heaving a great breath. “What the fuck is this? What are _you_ doing here?” He rose to his feet and brought his hands up in front of him. “You know what?” He asked, swallowing thickly and rising to his feet. “I’m over this. I’ll leave you to it. He’s all yours.” He gestured vaguely behind him and strode to the door. 

Finn stepped in front of him, blocking his way out of the room. “No, dude. What the hell did you say to my mom?”

“Fuck off, Finn, let me past,” Kurt spat. Finn didn’t move. Kurt shouldered his way forcefully past him, his head bowed low as he headed back to the waiting room.

Carole’s voice came after him, quiet but managing to ring through his ears, “You can’t keep running from this, Kurt. It doesn’t work like that.”

His stride stuttered but he didn’t look back. He set his jaw and focussed on the figure of Blaine in front of him, silhouetted against the bright waiting room behind him. The strangling squeezing in his chest eased a fraction at the sight. The shadows on Blaine’s face were chased away as Kurt got closer and closer, stepping forward into the glare. Blaine’s worried eyes caught Kurt’s and Kurt shook his head, just a fraction. 

Blaine gave a ghost of a nod and reached out his hand. Kurt gripped it tightly, clinging on to the one small thread of comfort he could allow himself to have.

 

*

 

Kurt settled back against the seat and closed his eyes on the journey home. He could feel Blaine’s glances at every stoplight, knew that questions were queued up one after the other on his lips. Kurt tensed with anticipation the whole ride, his hands wound together on his lap, but thankfully Blaine managed to refrain from letting the words slip and contaminate the air between them.

The car came to a stop on the slight incline that Kurt knew meant they were home. He blinked his eyes open wearily, squinting against the light. He reached out for the door handle, pausing as Blaine didn’t do the same.

“Are you not coming?” he asked, accusation creeping into his voice.

There was a pause and he felt the weight of Blaine’s gaze again. “I wasn’t sure,” Blaine said, “What you wanted.”

Kurt pushed open the door and swung around in his seat away from Blaine. “It’s fine if you don’t.”

Blaine turned to him and touched a gentle hand to his arm. Kurt didn’t move. “Kurt, I want to come in with you. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be by yourself or not.”

“Come in with me,” Kurt said, letting his chin fall to his chest and staring down at the rough concrete of the drive. “Please.”

Kurt felt a gentle squeeze to his arm. “Okay.”

They made their way into the house, the silence washing over them the second they crossed the threshold. The soft click of the door drew the house into a vacuum, the rustling of their coats dampened by the suffocating pressure that seemed to be pressing Kurt into the floor. The air felt thick in his lungs and he struggled to keep his breathing steady, but at the same time his limbs seemed to be moving with no resistance, his head heavy on his shoulders.

Kurt kicked off his shoes and waited impatiently as Blaine untied his shoes in that meticulous way of his; tucking in the laces carefully and lining them up against the wall. He straightened up and Kurt immediately launched himself at him, pressing him against the wall and sealing their mouths together in a hot embrace. Blaine let out a small gasp of surprise against Kurt’s lips and then melted into him, running his hands up Kurt’s back and tugging him closer.

Their bodies were pressed fully together. Kurt could feel Blaine’s chest against his, the small, soft swell of his stomach and the solid strength of his thighs. He felt like he could breathe again. The blanketing security of just being with Blaine managed to keep everything else at bay, all thoughts apart from _Blaine Blaine Blaine_ shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. 

Blaine pulled back with a smack, his head dropping against the wall with a gentle thump. A rush of breath escaped his lips. Kurt immediately moved to suck on the exposed stretch of skin under Blaine’s jaw.

Blaine ran his hands around Kurt’s sides to push gently at his chest. “Kurt-”

Kurt cut him off with another kiss. “Uh-mm,” he mumbled against his lips. “No talking.”

He nudged his thigh between Blaine’s legs. Kurt had to bend his head to keep kissing Blaine as he slid down the wall a few inches, determined to keep the warm press of lips constant against his own. Heat shot to his stomach as he felt the hot length of Blaine against him. Blaine let out a delicious moan and Kurt pressed closer, hips instinctively rolling together as he chased the hot rush of oblivion. Everything became fuzzy and unimportant apart from the smell, feel and touch of Blaine all around him. 

All too suddenly, the warmth was gone and Kurt again felt a soft force on his chest. He blinked his eyes open.

“Wait,” Blaine said, his voice parched and ragged. “No, wait a second.”

Kurt took a step back away from Blaine, wrapping his arms around his hollow chest. “Why?” he asked in a small voice. “You don’t want...?”

“No,” Blaine said immediately. “No, I don’t.”

Kurt hunched his shoulders forward, curling in on himself and squeezing his fingers tightly into his sides. He looked away down the dark hallway, blinking in irritation at the heat inexplicably building up behind his eyes. 

He felt fingers prying at his hands where they clutched his t-shirt. Blaine gripped his fingers tightly and stepped towards him. “At least,” he continued, searching out Kurt’s eyes, “Not like this.”

Kurt drew his teeth over his bottom lip in confusion, his chest tight. “Like what?” he asked. His voice was breathy and nervous. “I don’t-. We’re together. This feels good. I don’t see the problem.”

Blaine squeezed his hands. If he could feel the trembling of Kurt’s fingers, he never said a word. “Of course I want to do... _things_ with you, Kurt, that’s not the problem. The problem is that we haven’t even talked about any of this, about where we are in our relationship. Not to mention that I am not a hundred percent sure that this is really about me, or even _us_.”

Kurt looked away again, deliberately avoiding Blaine’s imploring gaze.

“I need a cigarette,” Kurt muttered, turning on his heel. He could hear Blaine’s sigh following after him as he strode determinately down the hallway and out through the door onto the back deck.

Kurt sat on the steps, the evening chill prickling at his skin. The air was sharp in his lungs, piercing through the dense fog clouding his brain.  

The deck beneath him trembled, soft footfalls getting closer and closer. Kurt didn’t move as Blaine lowered himself down so he was perched on the edge of the step, their arms pressed together. 

Kurt took a deeper, gasping breath. 

Blaine didn’t attempt speak, didn’t even look at him.

And so they waited, side by side.

Kurt didn’t know what for.

A car rumbled down the street nearby. 

Blaine still didn’t move even an inch.

The breeze nipped at the trees across the backyard, the leaves shivering and whispering against each other.

Kurt could feel himself teetering on the edge, his whole body juddering forward with every squeezing lungful of air. 

A spike of fear punctured his chest and he slumped forward, dropping his head to rest on his knees. 

A warm hand settled on the small of his back, rubbing small circles in his skin.

He swallowed thickly, his hands clenching into fists on his legs.

Slowly, he raised his head, gave a small cough to clear his throat and spoke into the dark, “She said it was my fault.” 

He couldn’t move his eyes from the tree at the bottom of the garden.

Blaine kept his touch steady on Kurt’s back. “Carole?”

Kurt nodded shortly.

“Are you sure that’s what she said?”

Kurt dipped his chin again in assent.

Blaine let out a slow breath and turned to face him, one hand on the back of his neck. “I guess people... say things they don’t mean when they’re upset. It’s just-, you know that it’s not true, right?”

Kurt continued to stare ahead.

“Kurt,” Blaine said softly. “I’m not a mind-reader. I wish I could just know exactly how you feel and how to help you. But I don’t know what to do. I just want to help you in any way I can.”

Kurt shook his head, pressing his fingers hard into his forehead. Blaine reached for his hand but Kurt pushed it away and jumped up onto the grass. He paced back and forth, eyes wildly roving over the ground in front of him.

“Kurt, _please_.” Blaine sounded desperate.

Anger boiled low in Kurt’s stomach and he whirled around to face Blaine. “I don’t know, okay?” he spat. “I don’t fucking know how I feel, Blaine. Everything is so jumbled up I have no fucking idea what the fuck is going on. Mostly I’m just pissed. At everything. At Carole, for always shoving her nose in where it isn’t wanted; at you, for trying to be so fucking understanding all the fucking time; at my dad, for being in a fucking coma; at me, for being bothered that my shitty father is in a coma; at my fucking _mom,_ for leaving me here in this fucking place all on fucking my own.”

Before he could even shudder in a breath Blaine slammed into him in a hard, tight hug, locking his arms around Kurt. Kurt froze for a moment in shock, all the anger startled out of him just as quickly as it had arrived. 

He let himself be held. He wound his arms around Blaine’s neck, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes. 

Blaine pulled back so he could look Kurt in the eye. “I know this will probably sound trite and whatever, but trust me, you are not alone. I’m here, and I’ll continue to be here as long as you’ll let me.”

Kurt squeezed his arms tighter around Blaine in response, not trusting his voice. He hoped Blaine understood.

“And anyway, your dad hasn’t gone anywhere yet . It’s not too late. The doctor said he’s stable and it’s only a matter of time,” Blaine continued, in a softer voice. “It’s always worth a try, right? Worth trying to sort things out?” He sighed. “I’m sorry I know this sounds cliched.”

Kurt buried his nose in Blaine’s neck and breathed in his familiar scent. He pressed a soft kiss just behind his ear. “You’re doing okay.” He pulled away for a second. “You know I’m not actually annoyed at you, right?”

Something eased in Blaine’s eyes, a breath of relief escaping his lips. “Right.”

Kurt dropped his head to Blaine’s shoulder and slumped back into the close embrace. “Can you stay tonight?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Just to sleep.”

Kurt could hear the gentle smile in Blaine’s voice as he answered, the sound muffled against Kurt’s skin, “Of course.” 

 

*

 

Kurt stared at the watercolour of weak light beginning to brush the bottom of the curtains. He hadn’t slept for a second, had stared up unseeingly at the ceiling the entire night, trying not move at all, lest he might disturb Blaine. 

He had an arm flung over Blaine, who was curled on his side next to him, snoring lightly in his sleep. Kurt shuffled closer to him so that he could feel the gentle caress of his breath on his cheek, taking a moment to breathe in the warmth and familiarity of Blaine next to him. 

But he could feel a tug within him, pulling him away from the comfort and security that Blaine gave so naturally. Kurt slipped his arm off Blaine with a soft sigh and shuffled as softly as he could back and out of the bed. He couldn’t resist leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s forehead, threading his fingers back through his sleep-ruffled curls. Blaine pressed back subconsciously into the touch, smacking his lips together and wiggling down into the bed further. 

Kurt let a smile flicker across his face and ran his hand around the curve of Blaine’s ear in a lingering caress. He slowly drew his hand back and retreated silently across the room. He tugged on his clothes, barely noticing what he was picking out. Abandoning his sweats on the chair of his desk he caught sight of his notepad on top of it. He reached over and scribbled out a quick note to Blaine, glancing back at the peaceful form of Blaine once more before slipping out into the hall. He tiptoed through the dormant house and down the stairs, reluctant to make noise even though he knew Blaine was a deep sleeper.

The front door clicked closed behind him and he looked out over the silent street. It was still too early for the school run, too early for the morning joggers, too early even for the few commuters heading to Columbus. But Kurt was late.

He walked around to the garage, clutching the keys tightly in his palm. Inside, his car was waiting patiently for him, as it had for the past two years. He froze, staring at it, the keys digging into his clammy hands.

He bit out a quiet curse and dragged a hand back through his hair. He span on the spot in desperation, trying to quell the rising wave of irrational fury and hopelessness threatening to engulf him. 

Letting out a breath, he caught sight of a bike against the wall. He darted over and slung a leg over it. He pedalled furiously down the drive and out into the street.

 

*

 

The hospital was already buzzing by the time he got there. He didn’t pause to cool down after the ride. Stopping wasn’t an option. The idea of waiting, of having to sit down and have nothing to do but _think_ was terrifying. He had to keep moving.

He pushed the bike against a fence and strode the now familiar route to the ICU, ignoring the bustle of people around him. He gave the girl at reception a pointed look and jerk of the head towards the room, and she replied with a wave of the hand, gesturing for him to go on in.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His pace slowed as he approached the door, pausing in front of it, chest heaving, and reached forward to grasp the handle. He stared at it for a few seconds and let his forehead fall forward to rest against the wood. His eyelids fluttered closed and he sucked in a lungful of air. Somehow, he forced himself to push down on the handle. The door fell away from him.

He took two cautious steps into the room, his eyes still trained on the ground just in front of his feet. The door swept closed behind him. The draft lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and he shivered against the sudden chill. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he tracked the path of the floor with his eyes to the foot of the bed and the plethora of machines surrounding it. Wires, cables and tubes wound around each other across the room towards their shared target at the centre. 

Kurt drew the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and wrapped his arms around his body, taking another step closer to the bed. Finally, he let his gaze fall upon the figure lying motionless on the bed. 

Kurt let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. His father was pale, his entire body lax and weighing into the bed. His face was sunken, skin slumping down into his bones. His arms were at his side, palm down. Kurt couldn’t help but notice the left-hand was again devoid of the wedding ring. A feeble spark of hope flicked in his chest as he considered that it could be the hospital that had taken it off him. 

That hope was snuffed when he saw a chair pulled up close to the bedside that hadn’t been there when he had left the day before. Kurt lowered himself into it, his legs weak beneath him.

_He settled into the chair, primly folding his ankles together underneath him and smoothing down the fabric of his smart shorts. Warm grass brushed at his bare feet and he scrunched his toes at the sensation, reaching forward with a start when he realised Miss Doolittle was threatening to fall off her own chair. Kurt straightened her with a gentle hand and quiet words of reassurance into her fuzzy ears._

_He sat up straight again. “Mommy,” he called impatiently. “Tea’s ready.”_

_The soft lilt of his mother’s voice drifted out from the house, “Coming, sweetie.”_

_Kurt huffed. He scrutinised the table one last time, trailing a finger over the dainty china. He tweaked his bowtie and was just smoothing his hair when his mother pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the deck, her sundress swirling around her legs and her hair flying out behind her._

_“Sorry, pumpkin,” she said, rushing over to him. She ran a hand over his hair and leant down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I was just talking to daddy.”_

_He huffed again, a little more exaggerated this time, and gestured to the one empty chair. “Please take a seat and I’ll serve you.”_

_His mom’s eyes sparkled across at him and she nodded graciously in thanks._

_Burt came out from the house, a baseball mitt and ball in his hand. Kurt ignored him, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on pouring the tea out for his guests._

_“Hey, kiddo.” Burt jogged down the steps and out into the yard. “You wanna come play some ball with your old man?”_

_“No, thank you,” Kurt said quietly. “We’re having tea.”_

_He glanced up, just for a second. His mom and dad seemed to having one of their silent conversations over his head again, communicating with their eyes and tiny head movements. Kurt turned his attention back to the tea cups lined up in front of him._

_“Why doesn’t Daddy join us, Kurt?” his mom said brightly. “We could have a nice family tea time together.”_

_Kurt sent her a look. “There’s no room left. I don’t have enough cups.”_

_His mom seemed to consider for a moment, and then reached out for Miss Doolittle and tugged her onto her lap. “I can share with Miss Doolittle,” she said. “We don’t mind.”_

_Kurt flicked his gaze from her to his dad, biting his lip._

_“Miss Doolittle?” Burt grunted. “Like the movie with the talking animals?”_

_“No,” Kurt said impatiently. “Like in My Fair Lady. And no, Daddy, you can’t join us. You broke the teacup last time and ruined everything. Your hands are too big.”_

_“He’ll be extra careful this time._ Won’t you _, Daddy?” she said pointedly, looking over to Burt._

_Burt cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, yes, of course. ”_

_Kurt narrowed his eyes at him but reluctantly filled up his cup. Burt picked it up gently with just his thumb and forefinger, a look of deep concentration on his face. Kurt kept a close eye on him as he sipped his own tea._

_“Relax, sweetheart,” his mom said, smoothing his shirt down his back. “It’s not the end of the world if he breaks a cup. Just enjoy it.”_

_-_

_Kurt sat at the table in the garden, staring down at a silk scarf folded carefully in his lap. Tears carved searing paths down his face. He closed his eyes and bent his head up to face the sun. He could close his eyes and see her face, feel the ghost of her touch on his cheek and the gentle press of her lips to his forehead. He could hear her voice clearly, musical and so often full of laughter._

_But he will now always have to open his eyes and the feelings would fade once again to memories as quickly as the warmth of her touch cooled on his skin._

_He pulled at the tie around his neck. For once, dressing up felt like too much. The collar was strangling him and he couldn’t breathe._

_But he knew she would like it if he did make the effort. Would have liked it. Dressing up together had been their thing. Or rather, him dressing her up. They had spent many hours in her closet, analysing this blouse with this skirt, this dress with these heels and this lipstick. She had taken him on trips to the mall where they perused the stores as the fancy took them, his hand firmly wrapped in hers the whole time._

_The yard was quiet around him; the summer heat a heavy blanket stifling any echoes of a past life of tea parties and exuberance. Everything looked faded and dull, the sounds of summer muffled and unimportant. His stomach churned as his shirt stuck to his body, clinging to his skin, his palms were clammy as he ran a shaking hand over his forehead._

_The back door creaked open. He didn’t look around. He didn’t need to anymore._

_“Come on, son,” the low and worn voice of his father reached him. “Time to head to the church.”_

_Kurt tucked the scarf in his inner pocket and slowly got to his feet, swiping at his eyes and blinking rapidly._

_Burt stood in the doorway, a hand reached out towards him. Kurt walked straight past him without so much as looking at the extended hand. He didn’t need anyone anymore._

_-_

Kurt stared at his dad’s hand, limp on the bed in front of him. He leant forwards in his chair, propping up his elbows on his knees. He twisted his own hands together, running his thumb over his knuckles again and again.

He realised vacantly that people were moving around him. He noticed Carole, the nurse, the doctor. He blinked, tucking his hands safely back in his lap and looked around him curiously. Carole was crying, tears pouring down her cheeks and hand over her mouth as she looked at the bed.

Kurt turned slowly back to the bed, unease creeping into his stomach. 

Burt was twitching his fingers, his face scrunched up. The nurses were all swarming around the bed, changing the equipment Burt was on. One of them chivvied at Kurt to move away.

He rose in a daze, standing still for a moment as dots of light danced in front of his eyes. He felt lightheaded and woozy. 

Burt cracked open his eyes on the bed just as Kurt began to back away. His gaze darted all over the room, finally resting on Kurt. Burt squinted at him, confusion clouding his face. They locked eyes, just for a moment. There was a question in his father’s pale gaze, an unmasked pleading in his eye that was vulnerable after so long being closed to the world.

Kurt wrenched his eyes from his father’s and turned on the spot, striding away through the hallway, the soft lilt of the hospital radio playing out over the speakers.

 

_When I feel that something_

_I want to hold your hand_

_I want to hold your hand_

_I want to hold your hand_

_I want to hold your hand._


	22. Chapter 22

Kurt cycled back to the house in a daze, clammy hands gripping the handlebars tightly as car after car roared past him. He kept his gaze resolutely forward, blinking rapidly against the cool air rushing past and concentrating on the blur of the grey sidewalk. His legs pushed down on the pedals mechanically, the silent rhythm soothing his racing mind. His breaths came out in small gasps of air, repeating the same half-formed words over and over with every drive of his legs, “Just, keep, _going_.”

The turning to his street loomed in front of him, startling him out of his stupor. The temptation to ignore it and keep going pulled at him. The steady tempo of his legs beneath him was comforting; the very idea of stopping sent a fresh wave of fear flooding to his stomach.

Gritting his teeth he swerved into the street, keeping up his speed until he veered up into his driveway. He let the bike fall to the grass in the front yard, wheels still spinning, and walked on shaky legs over to the house. He let himself in, pausing to listen as he clicked the door shut behind him. The house was silent; Blaine must still be asleep. 

Not sure if he was pleased or annoyed, or having any idea how the hell he was feeling about anything, Kurt sighed and made his way through to the kitchen.

He made himself a cup of coffee and drank it out on the front steps, alternating sips of burning caffeine and long, slow drags on a cigarette. He huddled around the coffee mug for warmth, but the small plume of steam did little to dispel the cold clawing at his throat from the frigid air.

Time passed, the empty coffee mug growing colder in his hands. 

The front door opened behind him. Kurt didn’t turn around, letting the footsteps approach him. A gentle pair of hands draped a blanket around his shoulders and Kurt shivered back into it. Blaine lowered himself down next to Kurt on the steps, wrapping an arm around his waist. Kurt’s lips twitched up into a warm smile as he noticed that Blaine was wearing one of Kurt’s hoodies, the sleeves pushed back around his wrists, and his hair was loose and curling around the edge of his ears.

Blaine leant over to press a soft kiss to Kurt’s cheek. Kurt reached up with a hand to stop Blaine from retreating, pulling him back to kiss him properly on the mouth. 

“Mmm,” Blaine hummed against his lips. “Smokey.”

Kurt snorted and Blaine pulled back with a grin, letting his head fall on Kurt’s shoulder. 

They sat for a few minutes, Blaine rubbing a hand up and down Kurt’s side.

He lifted his head and turned back to look at Kurt. “How’s your dad?” 

“He… woke up, I guess,” Kurt said with a shrug, looking out at the street.

Blaine’s face lit up and he reached out to grasp Kurt’s hand, eyes crinkling at the corners as he beamed over at him. Kurt’s stomach squirmed and he resisted the sudden and unexpected desire to take his hand back from Blaine’s grip.  

“Did you just come back to take some of his stuff back to him?” Blaine asked, starting to get up. “I’ll go home so you can go straight back to him.”

Kurt shook his head with a jerk. It did nothing to clear his mind. “No, I-.” He shook his head again and reached up to press his fingers over his forehead. “I’m not going back there.”

He let his hand trail around to his ear and twirled one of his ear-piercings absently. 

“Did you talk to him?”

Kurt sighed in exasperation. “No.”

He could feel Blaine’s eyes on him. “So,” Blaine said, then paused, pressing his lips together in confusion. “You didn’t talk to him, you just left? He woke up and you... left.”

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt said, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. “He woke up after days in a coma and I just left.” 

Blaine paused. Kurt could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain. “I thought you said you wanted to talk to him.”

Kurt ground his teeth together. “It’s not that simple.”

“It can be,” Blaine said shortly. “You have to start somewhere. And you clearly want to.”

“Blaine, can we not do this again?”

“Fine,” Blaine said, holding up his hands. “It’s just that he clearly loves you. Don’t you see how lucky you are to have that? To get a second chance with him?”

Kurt pulled the blanket tightly around himself. “Leave it, Blaine,” he snapped.

Blaine nodded to himself. “Right, right. Because obviously I couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to have a complicated relationship with my father.”

“That’s different.”

“Right, because your dad actually loves you for who you are.”

“This isn’t a competition for who has the most fucked up relationships, Blaine. You can’t blame me for not understanding your relationship with your dad because you literally never talk about it.”

Blaine smiled bitterly. “And that’s a concept completely foreign to you, obviously. Not talking about things.”

Kurt swore under his breath. “What part of ‘leave it’ did you not understand? I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Of course you don’t,” Blaine muttered, getting to his feet. “How silly of me.”

Kurt was left staring at him as he retreated into the house without another word.

He threw off the blanket and jumped down to the yard, wiping away a tear in frustration. He kicked angrily at the fence post and swore up at the sky, spinning on the spot and then began to pace along the path, up and down, up and down. He dug in his pocket for another cigarette.

Blaine appeared at the door in his own clothes and his bag slung over his shoulder. Kurt watched him carefully from where he stood on the front path. He took a drag on his cigarette to give him something to do, trying to keep the tension from being evident in the set of his shoulders. 

Blaine sighed visibly and pressed his lips together. He dropped his bag at the top of the steps and walked down to Kurt, stopping just in front of him.

He reached forward for Kurt’s hand, which was hanging loosely at his side. “I don’t want to fight with you,” Blaine said quietly. “I just want you to appreciate that you’ve been given a second chance here. Just… think about it, okay?”

Kurt looked down at their clasped hands. Blaine was running his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles, the palm of his hand silky soft as usual against Kurt’s. Kurt glanced back up to meet Blaine’s gaze. His head was tilted slightly to one side as he blinked up at Kurt softly, a pleading expression clear in his eyes.

Kurt nodded and a smile unfurled across Blaine’s face. He brought their hands up to lips and pressed a kiss to the back of Kurt’s hand, then unfolded them and placed another gently in the centre of his palm. 

Kurt’s heart clenched in his chest and he closed his hand instinctively around his palm. Blaine stepped back and reached up the steps to grab his bag before moving back across the yard.

“You know you can talk to me about it if you want,” Kurt said, lifting his voice to reach Blaine as he walked back to his car. Blaine turned to face him. “Your dad, or… anything. If you want.”

Blaine gripped the strap of his bag with both hands, his knuckles white against the tan leather. “I’m fine. But… thank you.”

“It’s not… you don’t have to thank me. You’re my boyfriend, of course I want to talk to you. Among other things,” he added with a wink, desperate to ease the weird tension in the air between them.

Blaine ducked his head, blush creeping up his neck. A grin spread across Kurt’s face, thrilled that he still had this effect on Blaine. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Blaine repeated softly, and turned reluctantly back to his car. 

Kurt rolled his shoulders back and watched as Blaine reversed out of the drive. 

*

He waited until Blaine’s car had disappeared around the corner before turning back to the house with a sigh. He scooped up the blanket from where it had fallen on the deck and let himself in the front door. Kicking off his boots at the door, he wandered through the house into the sitting room, folding slowly as he went. He laid the blanket over the arm of the armchair - his _dad’s_ chair - and smoothed out the creases absently.

The silence crept up on him again, crawling over his skin and pressing in on his ears until he couldn’t bear it any longer. He padded across the living room to the sideboard on the far side of the room where his mother’s record player was sat, immaculately clean but unused for four years. Kurt ran his hand over the extensive vinyl collection stacked upright next to it, pulling one out at random.

He gave a small snort of grim amusement when he saw what it was. Slipping the disk gently out of the worn case, he laid it on the turntable and placed the needle halfway through the first side. He retreated to the couch, curling up around a cushion, and let the soft piano chords wash over him. 

_ And in the hour of darkness _  
_She is standing right in front of me,_  
 _Speaking words of wisdom,_  
 _Let it be_

He drew his knees up to his chest. The words formed unknowingly on his lips, breathing them soundlessly out into the air. They wound back around him, warm and familiar, the safe arms of his mother engulfing him as she pressed a soft kiss into his hair and rocked him back and forth. He closed his eyes and let himself be held. 

_ Let it be, let it be, _  
_Let it be, let it be,_  
 _Whisper words of wisdom,_  
 _Let it be_

Tears were rolling down his cheeks unchecked but his mind felt clearer, quieter. The song crackled to an end. Kurt opened his eyes as the arms slipped away, but for once it didn’t feel like she had been ripped from him once more. Her touch lingered on his skin, warmed his heart. The ache that settled in his chest wasn’t quite so suffocating as before.

The next track started and Kurt smiled thickly through his tears. This was where his mother always got up to flip the disk, not wanting him listen to this last song on the first side. He got up out of habit and placed the needle at the beginning of the disk, settling down properly on the couch and letting his eyes slide shut.

*

Kurt stood outside his father’s hospital room for the second time that day. He had spent what was left of the morning and the early afternoon in a deep, dreamless sleep, stirring awake as the weak winter sun peaked in the sky, a gnawing in his stomach and a restlessness in his muscles. 

He took a deep breath, adjusted the bag on his shoulder and knocked before he could second guess himself. 

He jerked back in surprise when the door opened abruptly and a nurse that he wasn’t familiar with appeared in front of him. The nurse smiled easily at Kurt and stepped back to allow him in. Kurt paused, gave him a short nod and advanced into the room.

Carole, of course, was sitting in the chair next to the bed, but thankfully Finn was nowhere to be seen. Burt and Carole turned to him in unison. Kurt shifted on the spot and pulled his sleeves over his hands, the corner of his mouth twitching out in a half-smile.

Burt’s eyes lit up. Kurt twisted his hands together further.

“Well,” Carole said decisively, getting to her feet, “I think it’s about time for me to get another coffee.” 

Kurt stood rooted to the spot as she patted Burt’s hand, gathered her purse and backed out of the room.

Burt cleared his throat and sent him a small smile. “Hey, kiddo.”

Kurt bit his lip, gave a small grunt of acknowledgment and shuffled a bit closer to the bed. 

His father’s gaze was on him. Kurt avoided it and let the bag fall from his shoulder so that it landed heavily in the crook of his elbow before he lowered it to the floor.

“I missed you this morning,” Burt said quietly, his voice rough.

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. His hands were clammy as he clamped his fingers together, squashing his left knuckles with his right hand.

Burt was lying still on the bed, watching him. “You okay?”

Kurt let out a small huff of air. His throat contracted as he tried to swallow again. “-M fine.”

Burt shuffled back to sit up a little more and smoothed the cover over his stomach, resting his hands together in his lap. “You’re even more chatty that usual today,” Burt commented idly.

Kurt’s eyes flicked up. His father was looking at him with a teasing crinkle in his eye, but Kurt could also see a shadow of concern in the furrow of his brow. Kurt tore his eyes away again.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted in a small voice.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Burt said gently and nodded at the chair to the side of his bed. “Just sit with me.”

Burt waited patiently as Kurt glanced between him and the chair. Kurt eventually moved over to the chair and sat with his shoulders hunched forwards, hands still twisting together in his lap.

Burt gave him a moment, but when Kurt still didn’t say anything he began to speak. “So I was so tired after a few days asleep that I’ve slept most of the day. The doctors say that’s good, though, apparently. 

Kurt nodded and took in deep, steadying breaths, only half-listening to his father’s voice. 

“They’ve got me on all sorts of medication and I’ll have to change diet and start exercisin’ more, but the doctors think I’ve got a good few decades in me yet if I play it right.” 

Kurt pressed his lips together and made a small noise of recognition in his throat.

“How’s it been going at home?”

Kurt shrugged again. “Fine.” 

“Have you had Blaine over a lot?”

Kurt’s head snapped up. “Why?”

Burt lifted a placating hand. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Oh.” Kurt blinked. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Good,” Burt nodded. “That’s good.”

Kurt picked at the already chipped black nail polish on his nails.

The hospital room was noticeably quieter than before, the absence of the beeps and whirrings clear as the silence stretched between them.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” Burt said after a few minutes.

Kurt tensed in anticipation.

“I was thinking about what happens when I go home. I’ll be on bed rest for a coupl’a weeks at least. I’ll need someone around to help me.”

Kurt’s stomach sank, waiting for the inevitable blow. 

“I know we’re moving fast, but it just feels right, you know? I want to ask Carole to move in.”

And there it was.

“I-, um, I could look after you,” Kurt tried, doubt laced through his words. 

“Kurt you can barely stand to have a conversation with me,” Burt sighed, “Do you really think that you want to look after me 24/7?”

Kurt swallowed, cold fear rising through him. There would be someone else in their house. Someone else _living_ there. Someone else to run into in the kitchen in the morning. Someone who would be hanging onto his father’s arm, sleeping in his bed. Sleeping in their bed.

He cleared his throat. “And Finn?”

“I imagine they come as a package deal, yes,” Burt said wryly.

Kurt closed his eyes. “No,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said no,” Kurt said, louder, more forcefully. “I don’t want them in our house. You asked me and I say no. We don’t need Carole and Finn’s a jackass.” 

“But here’s the thing, Kurt,” Burt said, locking eyes with him. “I do need her.”

Kurt’s breathing shallowed. “How will she feel about having mom’s dresser in the corner? Mom’s clothes in the closet? Actually, scratch that. I don’t give a shit how Carole feels. How do you think mom would feel? Or wait, are I still not allowed to mention mom?”

Burt leaned back against his pillow with a tired sigh. “I think your mom would want us to be happy in any way we can.”

“Well that’s certainly not going to make me happy to have her and her brute son needling their way into our lives.”

“Kurt,” Burt said, exhaustion creeping into his tone. “This will make your life, our lives, much easier. I was going to ask her soon anyway. I love her. So much. If you gave her even one chance to show you what a wonderful and caring woman she is I-. I think you would really like her. This heart-attack is just moving things along a bit quicker. It makes sense.”

Kurt watched silently as Burt closed his eyes and sank into the bed. 

“You were never really asking me, were you?” Kurt asked, his voice unsteady.

Burt brought up a hand and rubbed it over his forehead. “I think this could work. I am asking you now to let us give it a try.”

Kurt looked down at his hands again, his heart thumping in his chest and he mumbled a word into the room, “Fine.”

Burt’s eyes flickered open. Kurt glanced up to meet them, registered the shock and gratitude on his father’s face before looking away again. His gaze fell on the bag he had dropped on the floor.

He bent forward and scooped it up, a rush of nerves suddenly coursing through his veins. “I brought you, um, some stuff.” Burt’s eyes widened further. “There’s some pyjamas and, um, products, and stuff for your skin, and, yeah.”

He could see his father’s eyes becoming glassy as he looked at the bag. Kurt handed it to him awkwardly.  

“I’ll let you sleep,” he said, taking a step back from the bed.

“Kurt,” Burt said, reaching out to grab Kurt’s hand. Kurt looked down in shock. “Thank you.”

Kurt nodded in bewilderment. “I didn’t even bring you anything, it’s not a big deal-“

“I meant for-, for coming here, _being_ here.” He squeezed Kurt’s hand. “The nurses said you had been here a lot while I was under.”

“Oh,” Kurt said, waving his other hand evasively. “You know.”

Burt gave a small smile and released his hand. “You’ll come in tomorrow?”

Kurt gave a small dip of the head and backed away. He paused at the door and turned back. Burt was still smiling at him encouragingly. 

Kurt’s shoulders slumped forward and he spoke quietly, his voice cracking. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

On Friday the following week, Kurt poked his head into the choir room. A quick scan of the room showed empty chairs littered over the risers and Blaine, sitting alone at the piano with his head pillowed in his arms on top of the closed lid.

“Is it safe?” Kurt asked in a stage whisper.

Blaine jumped and lifted his head, sending Kurt a small but weary smile when he saw him. “I said it would be empty at lunch,” he said in a tired voice, smoothing down his already perfect hair.

Kurt frowned and made his way across the room to slip down onto the stool next to Blaine. He itched to wrap an arm around Blaine’s drooping shoulders and pull him close. He did the next best thing and tugged one of his hands into his lap, threading their fingers together and squeezing gently.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Blaine said with a small sigh, dropping his head to rest on Kurt’s shoulder. “Just tired. Rehearsals for King’s Island, you know.”

Kurt smiled sympathetically and brought his free palm to rest on their linked hands. Blaine lifted his head with a start. “Anyway, I should be asking _you_ that. Tomorrow’s the day.”

Kurt let out a breath, his chin dropping to his chest and trailing the fingers of his free hand over the lid of the piano. He hooked the heel of his palm under the edge and pushed it up to display the keys. He stared at them hazily. It was less than a week since his father had “asked” him if Carole and Finn could move in. It was all happening so fast. 

He walked his hand over the peaks of the black notes and down and out across the smooth white keys. He picked at a few notes, the tone sharp in the quiet of the room. 

“Tomorrow’s Moving Day,” he said hollowly. “And then dad’s back on Monday.”

Blaine hummed in acknowledgment, starting to play a soft melody with his right hand. 

“Carole came around last night,” Kurt said, with a great sigh.

Blaine’s eyebrows rose in interest. “What did she want?”

Kurt shrugged, his mouth twisting in a grimace. “Look around properly. I had the great pleasure of being subjected to the ‘I’m not going to try and replace your mother’ speech. Also the ‘I am not actually consciously aware my son is an raging asshole so I’m going to tell you to play nice with him’ speech. That one was fun.”

Blaine didn’t reply, just nodded. Kurt’s bitter smile softened, watching as Blaine’s fingers curled and stretched to play the notes with ease, filling in the melody with gentle harmonies.

“She doesn’t seem to understand that none of this even matters anyway. I have to endure this for like, six months and then I’m gone and they can pretend to be the world’s most perfect family. She’s acting like I’ve made this big, life-changing decision by letting them stay.”

Blaine nodded absently, his face neutral and still curled around on himself, eyes following the movement of his hand across the keys.  

“Do you want to come over later?” Kurt asked quietly with another squeeze to Blaine’s hand. “Celebrate the last night in my house alone?”

Blaine slumped a little more. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Kurt glanced back at the door. The corridors were mostly empty, with most of the students around the cafeteria. He leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Blaine’s mouth. Blaine’s breath hitched in surprise. Kurt smiled gently at him and rubbed his thumb over where his lips had just been. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

Blaine nodded, still wide-eyed.

Kurt got to his feet, and backed away to the door, a pleased smile playing around his lips as he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, the image of Blaine’s smile bringing a grin to his own features.

A freshman gave him a startled look as he received full effect of Kurt’s expression. Kurt’s grin widened and he tipped his chin up and lengthened his pace, bursting out of the doors into the courtyard. 

*

Blaine arrived at his house later that evening looking like he was struggling to stay on his feet, falling straight into Kurt’s outstretched arms. He perked up a little after dinner and they decided to forgo the couch completely and go straight upstairs to bed, even though Blaine insisted he was fine.

Blaine had brought his own pyjamas this time, an adorable navy blue cotton button-up set that Kurt may have melted at a little when Blaine shuffled out of the bathroom, a sheepish expression on his face. 

“You’re making me look bad,” Kurt said, plucking woefully at the old t-shirt he had slung on. Blaine regarded him for a moment, head cocked on one side and a sleepy smile on his face before he wrapped his arms around Kurt’s waist and rested his head on Kurt’s shoulder, murmuring a soft, “impossible,” into his t-shirt.

Kurt rolled his eyes even as his stomach gave a familiar flip and manoeuvred them over to the bed. He attempted to prise Blaine off him but Blaine just made a small, disgruntled noise low in his throat and clung tighter. Kurt furrowed his brow in concern and held Blaine closer to him.

Kurt lowered them gently onto the bed so that he was on his back with Blaine tucked into his side, head resting on his chest. Blaine propped up his chin on his hand to look up at Kurt through his impossible long eyelashes, reaching up to press a lingering kiss to Kurt’s mouth, before settling back so he could look properly at Kurt. 

Kurt ran his fingers down the sides of Blaine’s face. He finally looked relaxed and peaceful, wide eyes blinking softly up at Kurt.

“How are you feeling?” Blaine asked, the movement of his jaw as he spoke pushing into Kurt’s chest. “Are you ready?”

Kurt gave a wan smile. “I have decided,” he said in a grand voice, “that denial is an excellent place to be right now.” He shuffled closer to Blaine. “And anyway, I have you, alone in this house for one last night. I think there are other things we could be doing than discussing my imminent doom.” 

Kurt slid his fingers down the side of Blaine’s neck, hooking them under the collar of his pyjama top. Blaine’s breath hitched and Kurt suppressed a smug smirk as he innocently let his fingers continue their path around the collar to play with the top button. Kurt bit his lip, flicking his eyes to meet Blaine’s and twisting open the button.

Blaine reached up and covered Kurt’s hand in his own. “Not that I don’t like the direction this is going,” he said, with a squeeze to his hand. “But we haven’t talked about this yet, not since the other time.”

Blaine kept his gaze on Kurt and didn’t move away. Kurt took a deep breath. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Where we are in our physical relationship,” Blaine said. He paused, before adding, “What we are to each other emotionally. You know where I stand, I, um, kind of led with that at the beginning of all this.” His thumb rubbed slowly across the back of Kurt’s hand, eyes shining with something that looked a lot like hope and Kurt knew what Blaine wanted him to say, knew exactly what he was supposed to say. 

“I-.” The tug in his chest almost forced the words out but they got lodged in his throat, refused to be freed from his lips. Kurt felt his eyes well up, the tightening in his throat rising. He looked away, blinking rapidly. 

“Hey hey hey,” Blaine said softly, brushing his thumb over the corner of Kurt’s eye and tilting his head back to face him. “Why are you crying?”

Kurt shook his head and pressed his lips together, still trying to avoid Blaine’s eyes. 

“Don’t you see this is why we need to talk about this?” Blaine asked gently. “Why we can’t just jump into it?”

Kurt made a small noise of-, agreement? Acknowledgment? He didn’t know.

Blaine watched him for a moment. “I just feel like-,” he said, breaking off as his voice cracked. Kurt locked eyes with him in surprise and watched as Blaine attempted to gather himself together. “I feel like I’ve laid myself on the line time and time again, and I _get_ that you don’t like talking about your feelings, you have your reasons, I really get that, I just want to know where we stand. Need to know. I can’t have another Sebastian, Kurt.”

Kurt could see the battle for Blaine to stay the ‘strong’ one in the trembling of his lips, the beating of his heart in his chest, the glassiness of his eyes. It loosened something in Kurt’s throat.

“I don’t know how to say it,” Kurt breathed, his voice high and scratchy. “I know that I couldn’t have dealt with these past few weeks without you.”

Blaine swallowed and gave a wobbly smile. “I’m glad I can be here for you.”

A short silence stretched between them as Kurt searched for words to convey the jumble of feelings knotted in his stomach. “I need you with me more than you know,” he whispered eventually. “I’m sorry that’s the best I can do at the moment. I just want _you_. I’m not ready for… sex, or any, um, downstairs action just yet. I just want this,” he hooked a finger into the gap between the next two buttons on Blaine shirt, “off. I want to feel you. I want to be close to you.”

Blaine looked down at him for a moment, his eyes brimming with warmth. With a sharp intake of breath he surged forward, pulling Kurt into a firm kiss. Kurt gave a muffled gasp of surprise, responding as quickly as he could. He tried to pour all the things he couldn’t find the words for into the press of his lips and the curl of his hand around Blaine’s neck. Blaine pressed back with a pleased moan.

The urgency gradually left them, settling into long-drawn-out kisses interspersed with sharp breaths and content sighs. Kurt let his hand drift down Blaine’s back to play with the hem of his shirt before he pushed it up and splayed his fingers over warm skin.

Blaine pulled back and sat up, looking questioningly at Kurt as he paused with his hands over the buttons on the shirt. Kurt gave a soft, reassuring smile and nodded up at him. Blaine’s fingers slipped over the buttons, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin. Kurt scooted up the bed a little and couldn’t help but reach out, enraptured, sweeping his hands across Blaine’s chest and around his tiny waist. Blaine shivered and gave a breathy giggle, stomach muscles jumping as Kurt slid his hands up his sides and shimmied out of the sleeves, abandoning it on the other side of the bed.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, eyes sparkling. Blaine returned the look, reaching forward to grip the bottom of Kurt’s t-shirt. Kurt leant forward and let Blaine drag it off over his head. He felt exposed as Blaine set the shirt aside, resisting the urge to cross his arms defensively over his chest. But then Blaine’s attention was back on him and he felt himself unwind again.

Blaine’s eyes immediately went to the small swirl of black ink on Kurt’s left side, and he reached out as if to touch it and then pulled back at the last second, deciding to settle his hand lower on Kurt’s hip. 

“You can touch it,” Kurt murmured. Blaine flicked his eyes up to meet Kurt’s and then dropped back to the cursive letters. Blaine gripped Kurt’s side and rubbed his thumb over the two initials printed next to Kurt’s heart. Kurt worked to control his breathing. This was the first time anyone had seen the tattoo, let alone touched it.

Blaine’s hands moved over Kurt in cherishing arcs, caressing his skin with reverence, gentle and sure, occasionally dipping his head to drop soft kisses to a particular patch of skin. Kurt felt safe. Heat built behind his eyes again and he turned his head to the side.

Blaine’s movement stilted for a second and then restarted and he pressed a kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth. 

“Sorry,” Kurt croaked. “I keep ruining the moment.”

Blaine just shook his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly. Kurt felt the blankets being moved beneath him. Blaine gently pushed him onto his side and leant over him to turn off the light, pulling the covers up and tucking himself in on his side behind Kurt. He curled an arm over Kurt’s side and gripped his hand, pulling him back until his back was against Blaine’s chest. 

Kurt’s breath caught in his throat. He was aware, absently, that tears trickled from the corners of his eyes into the pillow, but he felt completely at peace. Blaine was warm and comfortable against his back and he could feel his heart, thumping reassuringly, and his breath, tickling at the back of Kurt’s neck. Blaine kissed the juncture between Kurt’s neck and his back, just a brief moment of warm lips on Kurt’s yearning skin before he snuffled down into the pillow.

Kurt felt himself drifting, a small smile playing around his lips as he relaxed fully into Blaine. 

*

Kurt lay flat on his back on the floor of his dad’s room the next day after a morning of coffee-tinted kisses with Blaine, examining the gold wedding band that had been left next to the remaining perfume bottles and necklaces on the dresser. 

He held the ring up in front of his face, fingers working around the smooth gold to look at it from every angle. He remembered studying his mother’s ring on more than one occasion with reverent fascination, but he had never seen his father’s close-up.

Both of their initials were engraved on the worn inside, but other than that it was a plain, simple, dependable ring. Kurt frowned at it for a moment longer, then let his hands drop to rest on his chest. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the calming scent of his mother. He stared up at the dresser above him, blinking slowly.

He stirred at the sound of the doorbell and rose slowly to his feet, brushing down his jeans and shoving his hand into his pocket with the ring still firmly clasped in his palm, and walked out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him. He wandered down the stairs and towards the front door still lost in thought. 

The ring was now warm in his fist. He turned it over and over in his hand, flexing his fingers so that it was perpendicular to his palm and then back to parallel. He stared at the door and reached forward to pull it open, feeling a strange sense of detachment.

Carole was standing on the matt, a smile painted across her face and hand clutching her bag close to her body. Finn was standing behind her, hands shoved deep into his pockets and shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to occupy as small space as his hulking frame would allow.

“Hi, Kurt,” Carole said brightly. Too brightly.

Kurt didn’t reply, but turned his back on them and headed back to the kitchen, leaving the front door wide open behind him. They made to follow him down the hall and he called out over his shoulder in a bored but firm voice, “First rule of the house: shoes off at the front door.”

*

Kurt sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. He could hear Finn and Carole banging around, moving what little stuff they could into the house. Trailing his fingers around the edge of the mug, he hoped he hadn’t missed anything that was important. He had done his best to round up all the most important things and stash them safely in his closet, but he knew there was always going to be something that Finn would get his hands on. 

Eventually the front door closed. That was that. They were in. 

Kurt swallowed. 

“Well that’s everything for now,” Carole said, rubbing her hands together as she entered the kitchen. Finn was still hovering. Kurt glowered at him. Finn’s eyes widened and he took a small step back.

“Okay, I’ll just run through a few things then,” Kurt said, leaning forward and crossing his legs. He counted off the points on his fingers as he went. “One: you will not move anything that is currently here. I guess you can move crap in the guest room but nowhere else. I will know - I have cleaned this house top to bottom for four years so don’t even try. Two: I have emptied the kitchen of all bad food for dad. Don’t buy any crap. Three guesses who this one is primarily aimed at.” He raised a scathing eyebrow at Finn. “Three: Do not touch the TiVo or so help me God. Four: As far as I’m concerned, nothing else will change. Make sure that remains true.” 

“That sounds reasonable for now,” Carole said. “At least to make this transition smooth and your dad gets settled again. After that, we’ll talk about making things a bit more equal.”

Kurt opened his mouth to let her know actually, no, nothing else was going to fucking _change_ thank you very much, but she held up her hand before he could speak. 

“That’s a conversation for another day,” she said firmly. “For now, how about we think about some dinner, hm? What would you like, boys?”

Kurt got to his feet and walked to the door. “I already made a casserole. It just needs to go back in the stove for an hour or so.”

Carole looked taken aback. “Perfect, okay then, I’ll pop it in.”

Kurt just rolled his eyes and left them to it.

*

The next day passed without incident. Kurt made sure to spend minimal time in common areas, eating meals in silence and shutting himself in his room the rest of the time. He had done his best not to notice the galumphing footsteps of Finn around the house, the constant gunfire and explosions that rang out from his room, the fact that Carole was now _everywhere_ the whole time. Including the master bedroom. 

He just listened to music and texted Blaine. Distraction was the key. 

Unfortunately, on the second evening, there was a loud knock on Kurt’s door. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, considering for a moment if it would be too juvenile to ignore it and turn up his music. 

The knocking resumed, even louder and more insistent. 

Kurt rolled his eyes and held up the remote, firmly pressing the volume button until the music was blaring out of the room.

The door opened and Finn’s head appeared in the space. Kurt groaned in annoyance. Maybe the volume thing would have been more effective if it was playing something other than the Wicked soundtrack. Although, he supposed with a small, grim snort, _What is this feeling?_ did have a certain resonance to the moment. 

Finn leaned over to the speakers and turned them back to zero. “Dude, could we, well, do you think we could talk for a second?”

Kurt ground his teeth and slumped his head back against the pillow. “Rule number five: no-one else is to step foot in my room.”

Finn didn’t reply, just shut the door behind him and sat on the chair next to Kurt desk. Kurt stiffened, eyeing the closed door. He drew himself back against the headboard and fixed Finn with an unwavering glare.

“I wonder what your buddies would think of this, hm?” he asked with fake nonchalance, keeping his voice steady as he smoothed out the bedspread around him. “You just willingly shut yourself in a room with all the gay. Better escape now before you catch it.”

 Finn twisted his hands in his lap. “That’s not-. It’s not like that. I don’t even think that. I was just here to, um, I wanted to offer you the… tree trunk? Um, something to do with a tree. Of peace.” 

“Olive branch?” Kurt said before he could stop himself.

Finn brightened. “Yeah!”

Kurt stared at him in incredulity. “Are you serious?”

“Sure,” Finn said. “I’ve just, um, noticed that this whole Burt heart attack near-death - sorry, dude - situation has hit my mom like, super hard. I just think it would be nice if we could at least, you know, talk to each other. She said the other day that our, um, situations aren’t that different. I’ve learnt a lot over the past year at Glee Club. Like, we should just man up and get on with it or whatever.”

Kurt blinked at him, barely quelling the sudden burst of hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble up out of him. He shook his head, unable to fathom what on earth Finn had just said to him.

“So we’re cool?” Finn said hopefully.

“No,” Kurt dismissed. “We are not _cool_. You can’t just-.” He shook his head again in disbelief. Finn hadn’t even attempted to apologise. “Oh my god I can’t believe this right now. Fuck. Are you serious? You’re not even going to mention the locker room? That’s just. _Fuck_.” 

“Look,” Finn said with a decisive air. “We haven’t got on in the past. We’ve both done some not-cool stuff. You’ve been a jackoff. I’ve been a jackoff. But I want to do this for my mom. Can’t we at least be normal to each other? Why is that so hard for you?” 

“Are you seriously going to equate what I did with what you did? Are you _fucking_ serious? No. Fuck off. Get out of my room.” Kurt pushed himself up and off the bed and pulled at Finn’s arm. “Out,” he snarled. “Now.”

“Come on, man,” Finn pleaded. “If not for me then do it for your dad? I’m sure he would appreciate it if we got on.”

“Oh I’m sure he would.” He gave a final shove to Finn, causing him to stumble into the landing. Kurt leaned against the door, clutching at it with white knuckle fingers. “And you weren’t even going to mention what a jackass you were and probably still are to Blaine.”

Finn opened his mouth in surprise.

“Oh yeah, I know about that,” Kurt went on viciously. “He doesn’t talk about it but I know that it upsets him. So even putting aside crap between you and me, you were an asshole for no reason to someone I l-, to someone important to me. So don’t expect me to just ‘be cool’ with you on a whim.” He pulled the door and took a step back, poised. “Don’t you _dare_ come into my room again.” 

He slammed the door in Finn’s gaping face.

He waited, breathing deeply and muscles thrumming with tense energy, for the tell tale sounds of Finn shuffling off down the hall to the guest room. Finn’s room. Kurt’s stomach turned at the thought.

The door clicked shut at the other end of the corridor and Kurt slumped against the door, his head falling back against the wood with a thunk. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, pushing back against the door with all his weight. He brought up his elbows to rest on his knees and buried his head in his trembling hands.

He stretched a leg and fished for his phone, bringing it up to his ear and running the other hand through his hair.

Blaine picked up straight away.

“I don’t think denial is going to work so well,” Kurt said in a small voice. 

Blaine didn’t reply for a moment. “Do you want to come over?”

Kurt rested his head on the heel of his hand. “I can’t just, I can’t leave them here, in this house. I can’t do it.”

“Okaay.” Blaine sounded a little lost. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Please,” Kurt whispered into the phone.  


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone :). I just thought I'd leave a quick note at the beginning to let you know that Finn is not in this chapter ( although he is briefly mentioned). The chapter after this will be a big Finn chapter. 
> 
> <3.

Kurt woke up the next morning, a hot, solid body pressed against his side and steady breaths warming his neck. He cracked an eye open, tilting his head to the side so the soft curls of Blaine’s hair brushed against his cheek. He ran his hand down Blaine’s bare back, lips tipping up into a sleepy smile as he remembered the night before, how he had slipped down to let Blaine in after Carole and Finn had gone to bed and dragged him up to his room by the hand where they had collapsed into the blankets, an unspoken agreement that shirts would stay off so they could be just that little bit closer.

His eyes drifted shut, not caring at all to fight the weight pulling him under back to join Blaine in blissful sleep. 

Soft footsteps descended the stairs and his eyes snapped open. A small knot of irritation twisted in his stomach, his jaw tightening as the anger seething low in his stomach made itself known again. 

He closed his eyes and breathed for a few moments, trying to concentrate on the beat of Blaine’s heart against his side, on their own small cocoon of warmth and peace in amongst his blankets.

Kurt let out the air in his lungs in one great gust and shifted down in the bed to press a short, dry kiss to the corner of Blaine’s mouth. Blaine gave a low hum of approval, nudging his nose against Kurt’s before becoming still once more.

Kurt propped himself up on his elbow, the tension loosening in his face enough so that he fall into a soft smile. He prodded at Blaine’s tummy. “Blaine, honey, it’s time to get up.”

Blaine smiled, his eyes still closed, and murmured, “You called me honey.”

“I-.” Kurt froze. There was a small jolt in his gut and he jerked back away from Blaine.

“I liked it,” Blaine said softly, opening his eyes to meet Kurt’s wavering gaze.

Kurt was abruptly very aware of his whole body, how close Blaine was, how the whole house was thrumming with _people_ , how all of a sudden that weight fell straight back on his chest and he couldn’t focus on anything other than how confined he was in this room, in this house. He lurched up to sitting position, running a hand through his hair.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” Blaine asked blearily, looking up at him in confusion.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, straining into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He untangled himself from Blaine’s limbs and got to his feet. “I just need a shower and coffee. I’ll just. Go. Shower.”

He backed into the bathroom, away from the befuddled expression in Blaine’s eyes and into the cool, dark bathroom. He closed the door, reaching to turn on the water before leaning back against the wall. 

It was too much. 

He slipped off his sweatpants and ducked under the water, twisting the temperature down and lifting his chin to face into the spray. He scrubbed at his restless skin, thoughts running circles through his head until he felt dizzy with it and yet still they wouldn’t stop. 

He slanted to the side, one hand steadying him on the wall as he took deep breath after deep breath.

He hadn’t even _thought_ about it. 

It was too much.

He closed his eyes and stepped back under the water until all he could hear was the pounding cascade of water on tile. Droplets of water bounced off his skin, rivulets slipping and sliding down his body, helpless to go anywhere but down. 

 

*

 

He pushed open the door to his room with trepidation, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist and water still dripping from the ends of his hair onto his back and shoulders. Blaine was perched on the edge on the bed, wearing just his jeans. He was staring down at the floor, his back a smooth curve in the soft morning light. Kurt took in his worried expression, the press of his lips, the disquiet in his eyes.

Kurt dropped his gaze and moved over to his closet, methodically pulling on underwear and a pair of ripped black jeans. He folded and unfolded the towel in his hands, looking over to Blaine, still curled over the edge of the bed, bare toes scrunched into the carpet.

“I don’t get it,” Blaine said slowly, lifting his gaze to meet Kurt’s. “I thought we were past this stage.”

“What stage?” Kurt asked defensively.

“The stage where you don’t tell me what’s wrong and you just leave. I have _no idea_ what just happened.” 

“Nothing just happened,” Kurt brushed off, waving a hand as he walked to the bathroom and hung up his towel.

He made his way over to Blaine and held out his hands. Blaine looked at them for a moment and took them with a sigh, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

Kurt leant into him, wrapping an arm around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. “I like waking up to you,” he said.

Blaine gave a small smile, but there was something there behind his eyes, a weary acceptance troubling his usually clear gaze. He wound his arms around Kurt’s waist and pulled them together, his fingers rubbing up and down Kurt’s side and Kurt felt himself relax into it, the direct skin on skin contact still new and unfamiliar and yet already so comfortable, so necessary. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, lingering and lazy and exactly what Kurt needed. 

Kurt was just pushing into it further, running his hand through Blaine’s ruffled hair to tug him closer, the morning’s freak out momentarily far from his mind as Blaine groaned appreciatively low in his throat and tightened his arms around Kurt’s waist. 

There was a knock on the door and they froze, lips parting and heads whipping around to face the door. Carole came bustling in, steaming mug of coffee in hand.

Blaine’s eyes widened and he jumped back and out of Kurt’s embrace with a squeak, rushing to grab something to cover his bare chest.

Kurt forced himself not to move or make any change to his expression, just pivoted slowly to face Carole, his jaw clenched and heart pounding in his chest.

Carole had frozen in shock. Kurt crossed his arms, his hand drifting to cover the small curl of black ink on his side, a glint of challenge clear in his eyes as he stared at Carole. 

He could see her taking in the room, the rumpled bed, two of them shirtless, just in their jeans. 

She swallowed and continued across the room to place the coffee down on the nightstand.

“I thought you would still be asleep,” she said carefully. “I was going to leave this for you before I went to work.”

Kurt continued to look at her, his lips twitching into a smirk. He opened his mouth to speak but Blaine piped up from behind him, “Thank you for the coffee.”

Kurt spun around to glare at him and saw that Blaine had tugged on one of Kurt’s t-shirts. Blaine just gave a small shrug.

“It’s… Blaine, is it?” Carole asked. “You’re in Glee Club with Finn?”

Blaine nodded, pulling a little on the hem of the t-shirt.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Carole said with a tight smile. She turned back to Kurt. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Kurt.”

Kurt lifted his chin, and small, dangerous smile unfurling across his lips. “You also don’t seem to know that acid wash denim should never be paired with an orange _corduroy_ blouse or else you look like you’ve tripped head first into an old lady’s garage sale but you seem to be doing just fine.”

Carole took a step back, hurt flashing in her eyes before a new, steely expression overtook her face, her back stiffening. “Blaine, I think you should go home,” she said, her eyes not moving from Kurt. “Kurt will see you at school.”

Kurt gave a small scoff low in his throat and held her gaze as Blaine shuffled around, grabbing his clothes and with one quick squeeze to Kurt’s hand was gone, past Carole and out of the door.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at her, the silence stretching between them. He waited, watched, immobile except for his eyes; a predator waiting for its prey to make the first move. She bit down on her bottom lip and drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height. 

“You cannot talk to me like that,” she said. “I know what you’re doing. You’re deliberately trying to get me to play the part of evil step-mother. That’s not me, at all. If you took a moment to look at me, you would know that. I care a huge amount for your dad. And you are _everything_ to him.” Kurt barely resisted the urge to snort. She leant forward, her hand clenched into a fist over her heart. “All I want is for you to give me _something_. Basic civility, Kurt, that’s not asking much. I am here, now. I make your father happy, _now_. Don’t you want that for him?” Kurt stared down at the floor, his face carefully blank. “I’m what you’ve got now so I’m sorry, sugar, but you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Kurt didn’t lift his gaze as he asked, flatly, “Are you done?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I am not,” Carole said, apparently well into her stride now. “We’re going in circles. You have a good heart, Kurt. I know you do. You try and cover it up - sometimes frighteningly well - but I can see it. Please stop seeing that as such a weakness and let someone help you with the pain still tearing you apart from the inside.”

“Don’t presume to know me. You know fuck all about me.”

“And yet you think you know everything there is to know about me,” she said calmly.

Kurt ground his teeth together. “You are _quite spectacularly_ missing the point. You could be Mother  fucking Teresa for all I care. I don’t want you in my life, period.”

“Well, I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, Kurt, but I’m going to be. That’s a fact.”

Kurt was silent, a bitter taste in his mouth. He tried to swallow it away but his throat was thick, his stomach churning.

“I’ve talked to your father about how this house is going to run. There will be a total honesty policy. That means that I’ll have to tell him about you having Blaine over. You can’t put me in the middle, I won’t do it.”

Kurt ran his tongue over his dry lips, closed his eyes and said, “Except the fact that you will.” His voice high and rasping. He cleared his throat in frustration, balling his hands into fists at his side.

“I will?”

“Yes,” Kurt said quietly. “Because telling him that would put undue stress on his heart.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, deflating as she nodded in tiny, jerky movements.

Kurt had her, he knew it. She knew it.

He didn’t think it would feel so hollow.

“I’ll be bringing your dad back from the hospital after my shift today. We’ll be having a family meeting tonight if he’s up to it.” She looked at him steadily. “You will be there.”

She backed out of the room, pulling the door to a close behind her with an irritating softness. 

Kurt slowly let out all the air in his lungs -she had no _right_ \- and let out a strangled noise of frustration. How _dare_ she? How _dare_ she come into his room and tell him who he is, how he feels, how he’s _supposed_ to feel? 

The fucking _nerve_.

He turned on the spot, a hand pulling at his hair as he desperately searched for something to just-, something to get this _anger_ , this boiling _rage_ out of his system. It lit a fire in his belly, the smoke billowing from the flames, filling his lungs until he could hardly breathe. He wished he could just act like a child and stamp his feet on the floor, or live up to his reputation and punch a wall.

He paced up and down his room, his breath fast and harsh between his teeth. He ran his hands through his hair again and again. 

The window caught on the frame as he tried to shove it open, and he got a shoulder underneath and heaved. Cold air swirled into the room, soothing his feverish skin and reminding him that he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. He pulled on a black tank top, his fingers shaking and skitting around his clothes and desk, searching, searching. 

He eventually found a pack of cigarettes, jammed one between his lips and flicked at his lighter with still trembling fingers and finally, _finally_ , scorching smoke filled his lungs. He closed his eyes and leant on the window sill, pounding heart only just beginning to slow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for your patience and for sticking with me. There is an explanation of sorts for the delay [here](http://wheretheshadowslie.tumblr.com/post/56063157733/the-status-of-trapped-in-amber) if you're interested. Sorry that this is such a short chapter! I hope the next one will more than make up for it.
> 
> OH and my blog is [here](http://wheretheshadowslie.tumblr.com) (I don't think I've ever linked it from here). If you go in the trapped in amber tag I have there you will find some fanart for the story done by [gleeklainebow](http://gleeklainebow.tumblr.com/) which is absolutely stunning. She's now done three pieces for TIA and I love all of them SO MUCH <3\. So you should send her some love over those :).
> 
> Huzzah. Okay. Byeeee. (<3)


	25. Chapter 25

Kurt hovered in the corner of the sitting room, arms crossed tightly across his chest and chin held high, his mouth firmly set in a grim line. His gaze kept drifting to the opposite corner, drawn to the sight of his father sat once again in his old armchair. Clad in pyjamas and a thick flannel robe with a blanket tucked over his knees, his father was looking very much like a few decades had passed since he had last sat there rather than the mere couple of weeks it had been.

He caught his father’s eye and quickly looked away, away from Finn and Carole sat on the couch, away from the desk against the wall where Kurt had deliberately left the portrait of his mom, until his gaze settled eventually near the foot of the coffee table.

He cocked his head to the side and tapped his foot impatiently.

Burt cleared his throat. “Kurt, could you sit down somewhere? Your loitering is makin’ me nervous over here.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and sank to the floor, settling cross-legged with a clear view of everyone in the room. He rested his elbows on his knees and picked at a rip in his jeans. 

Burt cleared his throat again. “Right. So. I thought it might be useful for us to meet together, since this is the first night we’ll all be under the same roof, and to maybe go through a few things so we’re all on the same page.”

Kurt smirked. “Is there a prize for guessing exactly who the majority of this is going to be aimed at?”

Burt sighed. “Kurt, please, just listen first, okay?”

Kurt held his hands up in mock defeat. 

Burt’s eyes lingered on Kurt for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before he ploughed on. “This isn’t going to be easy, but I think in this situation it’s the best solution. It’s going to take a while for this to work. We’ve gotta do this one base at a time.”

Kurt didn’t hold back a snort, because _really?_ _Baseball_ metaphors? 

Burt closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, slowly, as if the minuscule movement was causing him great effort. “Kurt?” 

Kurt waved a hand. “By all means, carry on.”

“Was there something you wanted to say?”

“Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure,” Kurt replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Burt took a deep breath. “Try me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Kurt,” Burt said. “Spit it out.”

“Okay. Fine. Well, I just think there’s no point factoring me in to any of… this anymore.”

“What?”

“There’s no point me being here, is all.”

“Why?”

Kurt raised his eyes to the ceiling. “ _Because_ you’re going to do whatever you goddamn please anyway. And then I’ll be gone. What I think is utterly irrelevant.”

“Hey, that’s not true. You’re my son. Of course I care what you think.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Giving a small scoff and a muttered, “Yeah, okay,” he dropped his eyes back to the rips on his jeans. He wound the thread round and round his fingers until the tips glowed white, refusing to look up and meet the eye of his father.

“I think there’s something to be cleared up sooner rather than later, though,” Burt said finally. “You and Finn need to hash out whatever it is that needs to be hashed out.”

Finn looked up, eyes wide in alarm at being addressed. Kurt froze, his shoulders tensing. 

“Well?” Burt prompted.

Kurt pressed his finger tips together in his lap. “Finn’s a jock, I’m an outcast of society. Need I say more?”

“Yes, actually,” Burt said calmly.

Kurt flicked his eyes to Finn. Finn was carefully avoiding his gaze, his chin dipped towards his chest but eyes looking around the room, anywhere, anywhere but Kurt.

Kurt shrank in on himself. “He just played a stupid prank on me in freshman year,” he said tightly. “Him and the rest of his merry band of troglodytes.”

Finn shifted uncomfortably. “I tried to apologise.”

“Oh well, I guess that makes it okay,” Kurt sneered.

“Dude! There’s nothing else I can do, I don’t get why we can’t just move on from this.”

“Finn,” Burt said, warning in his tone. “What did you do?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kurt interjected.

“I’ll decide that,” Burt said. “Finn?”

Finn glanced between Burt and Kurt and back again. Kurt gave him his most scathing look and shook his head ferociously.

Finn opened his mouth and Kurt rushed to speak before he could get any words out. “He just embarrassed me in front of everyone, it’s not a big deal,”he said, trying to reign in the conversation.

“It doesn’t sound like not a big deal to me,” Burt said, his face beginning to redden. “In fact, it sounds like quite a lot of a deal. What did you do to my son?”

“Dad,” Kurt said. “Calm down. This is not worth having another heart attack over.”

“That’s _my_ decision,” Burt muttered, settling back in his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

Kurt looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Burt said slowly. “You should have told me about this before”

“Wow,“ Kurt said in a low, defeated voice, “you managed to make that my fault in a record amount of time.” He scooted back until he hit the wall and leant back against it, letting his head fall back. “Ten points to you.”

“We’re going to talk about this, kiddo,” Burt said. “Though, just you and me. This isn’t me letting this go.”

“Whatever,” Kurt muttered. “‘We’ll get back to it’. Like every-fucking-thing else.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Burt asked.

Kurt let out an irritated huff of breath, glancing at Carole, who still hadn’t uttered a word, and Finn, who with still frozen in shock from the confrontation. “It means that this is a joke. You’re a joke. This is a ‘family meeting’? We. Are. Not. A. Fucking. _Family_ ,” he growled. “Don’t fling that word around like it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Carole said softly. “That’s why we want this meeting. We want to make this work.”

“Well, I don’t,” Kurt snapped. “I couldn’t give two fucks.”

“Language, Kurt,” Burt said. “Come on, let’s talk about this.”  

“No! I have the fucking right to be angry. Everyone keeps _telling_ me things. Telling me all this shit like that makes it true. Like how _nice_ Carole is, how mom would want things to be, how Finn has magically changed into a fucking philanthropist. You’re telling me how to feel, how I’m _supposed_ to be feeling, how I’m supposed to deal with this. How the fuck can you tell me that when not one of you - not _one_ of you - has asked how I’m actually feeling. Or cared at all for my input. Or if you did, _dad_ , you completely disregarded what I had to say anyway, because you’d already decided how this was going to go.”

His hands were shaking. He clenched them together in his lap, twisting them over and over. “I don’t want you here, I don’t want any of you here. There’s one person I do want here, the one person I trusted, without any question or doubts on either side, but she can’t.” He looked at Burt, vision swimming. He forcefully blinked away the memories. “There’s one person I need, and it isn’t you. You didn’t get me then, don’t pretend to get me now.”

There was a stunned silence as he finished. He took advantage of it and got unsteadily to his feet feeling completely off-balance, everything thrown off-kilter. He risked a glance at Burt. He looked as if he’d been slapped in the face, years of pain visible in the set of his mouth and the bags under his eyes. Kurt tore his gaze from him and bolted from the room.

 

*

 

Kurt’s legs folded beneath him on the front steps, gulping in breath after breath. He hadn’t meant to say that much. He hadn’t meant to say any of it. Shame prickled at his skin as he ran the words through his head again and again.

The adrenaline began to wear off and he deflated in on himself, energy sapped from his system. His racing mind slowed to a muddy cloud and he was finally able to catch his breath. 

The front door opened and closed behind him.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Kurt said without looking around. “It’s cold.”

Burt sat down on the other side of the steps.

Kurt waited, his shoulders high and tense.

Burt just sat quietly, shifting to tuck his robe more snugly around him.

Kurt’s shoulders dropped. “I’m going to get a lock for my bedroom door.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” 

A dog barked in the distance. Kurt swallowed and dipped his head. “I don’t know how you’re doing this.”

He could feel his father’s eyes on him. “It was time.”

Kurt threw his hands in the air. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means that when I met Carole, I found that I could picture a life with her and it just, I don’t know, it just felt right. Kurt-“

“You just needed her, right?.” Kurt wrapped his arms around his legs and drew them in, talking to his knees. “When you had nothing, she came along and showed you that life was worth living.”  

Burt bent his head in close to Kurt, searching his eyes out with a resolute stare. “I didn’t have nothing.”

“I’ll stay here, I’ll not make any trouble. That’s what you want, right?” Kurt asked dully. “Then in a few months I’ll be gone to New York and you can have the family you’ve always wanted.”

Kurt leant his head against the post and closed his eyes.

“That’s not what I want. I want you here,” Burt said.

Kurt squeezed his eyes together more tightly and rubbed at the side of his face. “I’ve been here. I’ve been here the whole time.”

Burt paused and reached over to place a hand on Kurt’s arm. Kurt flinched away. Burt withdrew his hand and slipped it into the pocket of his robe.

“Your mom was your sun and moon, Kurt. She understood you in a way I never could. We have so little in common I didn’t know what to do with you.” Kurt fidgeted his hands in his lap and curled further in on himself. “That’s not your fault,” Burt rushed to continue, shuffling closer to Kurt on the step. “That’s all on me. It’s my job as a parent to support you in what you want to do and I failed at that, I didn’t _get_ it. But you pushed me away, you always have. Even before your mom died.”

Kurt flicked away a tear from the corner of his eye with his thumb. “I was a _kid_.” 

“I know, Kurt, I, tried-“

“You should have tried harder,” Kurt interrupted, his voice a fierce rasp.

Burt let out a breath, a cool white mist blown into the frigid air before it vanished into the night. “I know.” 

He reached across the small space between them and rested his large hand on Kurt’s shoulder, squeezing tightly when Kurt didn’t immediately push him away. 

“How often do you go to mom’s grave?” Kurt asked.

Burt blinked at the question, taking the hand away to rub at the back of his neck. “I used to go every week. I guess it’s more like once a month now.”

Kurt nodded, picking at his nails.

“But that’s not…,’ Burt continued, still running a hand over his head. He let his hand drop with a sigh. “Everyone does this differently.”

“I’m well aware,” Kurt said, with a sardonic raise of an eyebrow. “But don’t you think I might have wanted to go with you?”

Burt looked up in surprise. “We used to go together all the time.”

“Once,” Kurt said quietly. “Twice if you count the funeral.”

Burt was silent, his eyes far away. “I guess I didn’t want to force it on you. A graveyard isn’t a place for a kid.”

“Mom dying isn’t something you could hide.”

“No,” Burt said softly. “I guess that was wishful thinking. We could go, if you wanted. Together. I haven’t been since before hospital.”

Kurt chewed on his cheek, an ache pulling low in his chest. “There’s no point. I’ve been going on my own for years now. I can go myself whenever I want to.”

 “It would be nice for us to go together. ”

Kurt closed his eyes and leant his head away from his father. He didn’t reply.

“Kurt,” Burt said, his voice rough. “I don’t know how to make this right.”

Kurt gave a defeated shrug of his shoulders. “You can’t now. What’s done is done. You get your second chance now with them.” He nodded his head in the direction of the sitting room with a small, wobbly smile. “I hope it goes better for you, I really do.”

Burt made a low, wounded noise that made Kurt’s heart clench. Kurt gritted his teeth. “Please leave me alone,” he whispered.

Burt looked at him with pleading eyes. “Kurt, I-“

“No, Dad. Leave, _now_ ,” Kurt hissed. 

Burt squeezed his eyes closed, a flicker of something Kurt couldn’t identify washing across his face. He clutched the railing and hauled himself to his feet. He hesitated, watching Kurt for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to speak but snapped it shut again, and with another pat to Kurt’s shoulder he turned his back and made his slower than usual way back to the front door. 

Kurt didn’t move from where he was sat and spoke out into the empty night, “We’re never going to be a family.”

The slow shuffle paused. A low, “Yeah,” came from behind him. 

 

*

 

Kurt lost track of time as he sat on the step. He dropped his head sideways to lean against the post again and sagged into it, tucking himself into as small a ball as he could. He felt numb, his thoughts cloudy and limbs heavy. He blinked slowly, not sure if he wanted to clear his cloudy thoughts or let them settle. 

The cold air stung on his cheeks, tears streaming down his face. His closed his eyes. He didn’t know when he started crying. He couldn’t find the energy to fight them any more. 

There was a bright glow against the back of his eyelids. He blinked his eyes open, squinting out at a car’s bright headlights coming down the street. It slowed and pulled up on the side of the street by the front lawn. The lights and engine cut out and the dark shape of a minivan became visible in the gloom. Kurt found himself getting to his feet before he had even consciously recognised the car.

Blaine slid out of the driver’s side, eyes downcast and brow troubled. He opened the backdoor and grabbed a bag from the backseat, turning towards the house with a preoccupied expression on his face. There was a lurch in Kurt’s chest and then he was moving, legs carrying him down the steps and along the path straight towards Blaine.

Blaine looked up just in time for his eyes to light up and begin spreading his arms before Kurt slammed into him, burying his face in Blaine’s neck and wrapping his arms tightly over his shoulders. Blaine gave a small, surprised, “Oof”, dropped the bag to the floor and quickly wound his arms around Kurt’s waist.

Kurt could feel himself trembling in Blaine’s arms but he was powerless to stop it, his breaths coming out in shuddering gasps as he clung to him.

“Hey hey hey,” Blaine murmured, rubbing his hands up and down Kurt’s back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Kurt dug his fingers into the tops of Blaine’s arms and breathed in the familiar scent he always knew he could find in the crook of his neck.

“How?” he croaked into Blaine’s neck. “How are you here?”

Blaine ran his hand up Kurt’s back to cradle the back of his neck. “Your dad called me.”

Kurt sank further into Blaine. “Oh.”

Blaine pulled back to look Kurt in the eye. “Is that okay? That I came?” he asked tentatively.

Kurt nodded and gave a small, shaky smile as shivers continued to course through his body.

“Kurt, you’re freezing,” Blaine said, unwinding his arms and gripping Kurt’s icy hands between his own. 

Kurt gave a small shrug and a downwards twitch of his lips.

“Let’s get you warm.” Blaine scooped up his bag from the floor, keeping firm hold on Kurt with one hand, and pulled him up towards the house. Kurt squeezed tightly at his hand at let himself be led away.

Just before they reached the front door, Kurt paused, tugging Blaine to a stop. He cleared his throat. “He said you could stay tonight?

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Kurt studied the wood of the deck in the small gap between him and Blaine. 

Blaine stepped into the space, reaching up with his free hand and trailing his fingers down the side of Kurt’s cheek.

“Is that okay with you?”

Kurt’s heart hammered. “Yeah. I-, yeah.”

Blaine smiled and turned back to the house.

 

*

 

They tucked themselves under the covers of Kurt’s bed, legs tangled and hands loosely wound together between them. Kurt nudged his nose into the warm skin of Blaine’s neck and let his exhausted body sink into the soft mattress. 

A few tears still trickled down his cheeks. Kurt’s throat tightened. “I hate that I care so much.”

Blaine tugged him closer, their bodies now pressed close and warm. “I love that you care so much,” he said softly. “But I hate that it hurts you.”

“Why do I feel bad?” Kurt asked desperately. “Why do I feel this bad for him? I don’t want to. He doesn’t deserve it. That’s not fucking fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Blaine said, tucking a strand of hair behind Kurt’s ear and smoothing it down. Kurt leant into the touch. “But that’s just who you are. The most compassionate person I’ve ever met.”

Kurt squirmed uncomfortably but couldn’t quite face to contradict Blaine, not when he was still rubbing his thumb up and down the side of Kurt’s neck like that.

“I think he’s trying,” Blaine ventured.

“He’s four years too late,” Kurt said fiercely. The familiar blaze in his stomach sparked but he was too exhausted to let it run its course, too exhausted even to be angry any more.   

He shrank back into Blaine. “I just don’t understand how he can do this to mom,” he said, sounding small and lost. “She’s still everywhere.”

Blaine didn’t speak, just kept up the soothing swipes of his thumb.

“Just, for four years he didn’t really exist, at least, not for me,” Kurt continued. “And I could almost forgive that if he was slowly coming out of his grief for mom, if he was thinking about her and-,“ he swallowed and took a deep breath, “-missing her like I am, but it’s not like that. He made his decision, I guess. I’ll be gone soon and that’ll be that.”

Blaine held him, carding his fingers through Kurt’s hair. “I know it’s not the same, but you can talk to me about your mom whenever you want. I’d love to know more about her.”

Kurt nodded and snuffled into Blaine’s neck. Everything was a little bit easier when Blaine was wrapped around him.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

“Of course. I’m glad your dad called me.”

Kurt propped himself up on his elbow to look down at Blaine. Blaine blinked up at him, brushing his fingers over the side of Kurt’s face. 

“I missed you today at lunch,” Kurt said.

Blaine shifted. “Yeah, we had some Glee stuff to do.”

A frown twitched at Kurt’s lips. He could have sworn he saw all of the rest of the Glee club at their usual table at lunchtime, Quinn included. Kurt had watched them from afar, an ache in his chest as Quinn was accepted into their fray, laughing along at their jokes, bickering with them as if they were lifelong friends. Blaine hadn’t been there, he was sure of it.

A far off look had crept into Blaine’s eyes, his brow creased. Kurt leant down and kissed him softly, smoothing away the creases with his thumb. Blaine smiled into it and Kurt relaxed, pulling away after one more chaste kiss to Blaine’s lips, settling his cheek comfortably on Blaine’s chest.

Blaine pressed a kiss into his hair. “I love you so much,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek into the top of Kurt’s head. There was finality in his tone, a certainty and matter-of-factness, like he didn’t even expect any kind of response anymore. He was saying it for Kurt, with no expectation for anything in return. Always giving and giving and giving.

Kurt pulled back, heart giving a pounding thud in his chest as he looked down at Blaine in wonder. Blaine blinked at him in sleepy interest, his eyes full of nothing but warmth and trust and _love_. Kurt couldn’t help but get lost for a moment in the soft curve of Blaine’s eyelashes, and the way his skin seemed to glow in the low light filtering across the room from the lamp on Kurt’s desk.

Kurt breath hitched in his chest and tilted his head slightly, a small, giddy smile unfurling across his face. “I love you, too.”


	26. Chapter 26

Kurt sat on the floor of his closet, still in the sweats he’d slept in the previous night and a black tank top he had grabbed on the way in. He curled his cold toes under the end of his pants and reached forward, sliding a large plastic box out towards him. 

Taking a deep breath, he prised off the lid he had so carefully sealed all those years ago, folding the layer of tissue paper laid on top and gently placing it aside.

Inside, the box was brimming with clothes, filled with pants all colours of the rainbow, button-downs folded flat for minimal creasing, vests, ties, cardigans and complicated sweaters. Kurt pulled them out one by one, setting them around him until he was surrounded; a dark island in a technicolor sea.

There was a stack of small, almost flat boxes to one side of the box. Kurt smiled as he opened one to reveal one of his favourite bowties-burgundy with small cream anchors dotted around it. 

“Hey.”

Kurt started and glanced behind him. Blaine stood in the door of the closet, still fuzzy from sleep as he blinked down at Kurt.

“Good morning,” Kurt said softly. He patted the floor next to him. “Come sit.”

Blaine lowered himself to the floor obediently and scooted up behind Kurt to wrap his arms around Kurt’s middle and prop his chin on his shoulder. He leant his head against Kurt but pulled back immediately.

“Your piercings are cold,” Blaine said with a pout. “And pointy.”

Kurt gave a small huff of fond amusement, warmth blooming through his body. He reached up a hand and blindly patted Blaine’s cheek. “You’re adorable first thing in the morning.”  

Blaine made a disgruntled noise low in his throat and dug his chin into Kurt’s shoulder.

“What-,” Blaine said, biting back a yawn, “Are you up to at said ridiculous time in the morning?”

“Just going through some things,” Kurt said, running his fingers down a pair of deep purple velvet pants.

Blaine shuffled closer, peering over Kurt’s shoulder into the box. “You would look amazing in any of these.”

“I know,” Kurt said, with a twitch of the lips. “But none of it will fit me anymore. They’re all from middle school. Plus, I don’t actually _want_ to wear them.”

“Why not?”

Kurt ran his eyes over the myriad of clothes in front of him. They looked incongruous in his closet, surrounded by the rails of dark jeans and rows of thick, heavy boots. 

“They’re just not… me anymore. I like them. I really do.” He sank his fingers into the folds of a knitted sweater. “But they’re not right for me at all. Apart from the velvet pants. I could totally rock those still.”

Kurt felt Blaine’s smile against his cheek. Blaine squeezed him around his middle before replying affectionately, “I don’t doubt it.”

Kurt leant back into Blaine in unspoken reply and continued to pick through the clothes.

“What’s brought all this on?” Blaine asked when a few minutes of content quiet had gone by. 

Kurt sighed and closed the box of the bowtie he’d been looking at. “I don’t know. Just, nostalgic, I guess. It’s what could have been.”

Blaine hummed in understanding.

Kurt settled back. “I like the clothes I wear. I like the way I look, my piercings, my hair. This is who I am now. These clothes have been good to me.” He reached up a hand to grip the sleeve of a leather jacket hanging above them. “I don’t know.” He let out a great huff of air and let his hand drop back to the box. “Things felt a lot simpler when I wore these clothes.” His fingers came across a red thigh-length sweater. The happy memories of picking it out with his mom were tarnished by endless locker slams and made sour by the sneers of his classmates. He sighed. “Even if they probably actually weren’t.”

Blaine pressed a kiss to Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt lifted the small box still in his lap, twisting to face Blaine. “Do you want some of these?”

“Oh, no, Kurt, these are obviously special to you,” Blaine said quickly.

“ _You’re_ special to me,” Kurt replied softly. “There’s no point keeping these if they’re not going to get an outing every now and again.”

“You could wear them,” Blaine insisted.

“Blaine,” Kurt said slowly, clearly. “I don’t want to. When I said they don’t fit I don’t mean that just physically.”

Blaine hesitated still. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Blaine. I would love for you to have some of them.”

Blaine chewed on his lip for a moment and then brightened, smacked another kiss to Kurt’s cheek and jumped to his feet. “This is perfect,” he sent excitedly over his shoulder as he went back into Kurt’s room.

Kurt blinked at the sudden lack of Blaine. “What’s perfect?” he called.

“Just wait,” Blaine said, excitement clear in his slightly muffled voice. After a moment he appeared back in the door, hands behind his back.

Kurt twisted around to look behind Blaine’s back but Blaine just rotated, careful to block Kurt from seeing. “What’s that?”

Blaine shushed him. “Wait a second. Right so, it’s Christmas next week.”

Kurt’s shoulders dropped. “I’m not really a Christmas person, Blaine-“

“I know, well, I figured you probably wouldn’t be. So I thought I would take the pressure off and not do some kind of gift swap or something. I just got you something to celebrate you, if that’s easier for you. And what you mean to me. But now if you’re going to give me one of those gorgeous bowties then this all works out beautifully.”

Blaine beamed at him. Kurt stared back. “I’ll allow it,” he said grudgingly.

“Yay! Okay, so I got you two gifts. Well, one’s kind of for both of us but it’s still for you-“

“Blaine.”

“Right. So, gift number one!” Blaine pulled out the gift from behind his back with a flourish. Kurt raised his eyebrows as he took it in. It was a large sheep cuddly toy, fluffy white with brown splodges. A small area on the its left side, over where the heart would be, had the initials B.A. monogramed into it.

“Do you get it? It’s B.A. for me but also it’s kind of like _baa_. Like, the noise a sheep makes.”

Kurt opened his mouth and closed it again, still gazing at the sheep. 

“I thought, um, it kind of looks like me. Without my gel. And I thought that you should be able to have cuddles when I’m not here.”

Kurt’s stomach gave an involuntary flutter and his heart squeezed in his chest. He took the sheep gently from Blaine and held it up in front of his face. 

“I know it’s a bit silly,” Blaine said.

Kurt tucked the sheep under his arm and got to his feet, drawing Blaine immediately into a tight hug. He buried his face in Blaine’s neck, pressing a kiss onto the warm skin just under his ear.

“Thank you. Baa is adorable,” he said into Blaine’s neck.

Blaine gave a low chuckle and held him tightly back. “I’m glad you like him. Wait, your second gift.” He unwound one of his arms from around Kurt to reveal an envelope in his hand. “Here.”

Kurt looked down at it and tipped his head to side. “Intriguing, Mr Anderson.” Blaine gave a small smile and licked his lips nervously. Kurt plucked open the unsealed flap and peered inside. He caught a glimpse of a name and his heart skipped a beat. “You-“

He glanced up at Blaine. Blaine just grinned and nodded pointedly down, motioning for Kurt to continue.

Kurt slowly pulled out tickets. Two tickets. Two tickets with ‘ _Wicked_ ’ printed in large font across the top.

“The National Tour is coming to Columbus,” Blaine supplied. “I thought we could go together.”

Kurt stared down at the tickets, heat prickling behind his eyes. “You remembered?”

“Of course.”

“I tried to go,” Kurt said, breathless and still with an air of disbelief, “In New York, when I went for Quinn, but I couldn’t get a ticket. I can’t believe this. We’re really going? To the National Tour?”

Blaine nodded, beaming. 

Kurt flicked his eyes between Blaine and the tickets, heart beating fast in his chest. He was going to see _Wicked?_ He was going to see _Wicked._ In a theatre. With Blaine.

He flung his arms around Blaine’s neck, bouncing on the balls of his feet and unable to temper the size of his grin. Blaine laughed quietly and ran his hand up Kurt’s back and down his sides, holding him close. 

“I can’t believe this,” Kurt said into the fold of his arms. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.”

Blaine pulled away and looked up at Kurt seriously. “So you like it then?”

Kurt drew him back in with a breath of a laugh, pressing kiss after kiss on any patch of skin he could find. “Not at all.”

Blaine dug his fingers into Kurt’s back in response. 

“You need to stop being so nice to me,” Kurt said thickly. “All I do is cry.”

Blaine tucked a finger under Kurt’s chin and searched out his watery gaze. “That means you deserve it all the more.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve _you_ ,” Kurt said quietly.

The same wide eyed expression settled across Blaine’s face as last night when Kurt said those three words for the first time. It was a look that wound snugly around Kurt’s battle-worn heart, radiating out to envelop his whole body and surround him in a blanket of warmth that was unfamiliar, but not entirely forgotten. 

Blaine smiled at Kurt sweetly. “You deserve everything good that ever happens to you. If I am one of those things, then I am honoured.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. “Sap.”

“And proud of it.”

Kurt just shook his head, eyes still raised.

“So what do you say?” Blaine said lightly, a glimmer of something else that Kurt couldn’t read behind his eyes. “How about we blow off school today and just do something together?”

Kurt kept his face carefully neutral. “I’m shocked. My delinquent ways are clearly starting to rub off on you.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m so proud.”

Blaine shrugged with a dim flicker of a smile. “It’s nearly winter break. The teachers aren’t even bothering to attempt to teach anything anyway.”

Kurt tried not to let his face fall or acknowledge the sinking in his stomach but he knew his smile was ebbing.

“No,” he said, lingering for a second on the crease deepening in the usually smooth skin of Blaine’s forehead, “other reason at all?

Blaine looked at him carefully. “No, I just want to spend time with you.”

Kurt blinked and pressed his lips together, straightening up and forcing his face to smooth out again, even though all he felt like doing was wrapping his arms around himself and curling up in bed. “I have to go to school today.” He worked to keep his voice steady and free of emotion. “I’m just going to clear this. You should get changed.”

He bent down and began to mechanically gather all the clothes and re-fold them. Blaine went back into Kurt’s room after a few moments and Kurt let himself sink to the floor, angrily wiping away a tear. 

 

*

 

_From: Kurt (4.23 pm)  
_ If I don’t turn up for school tomorrow, please check under the Ford SUV at the garage for a Kurt shaped icicle.

 

_From; Blaine (4.30 pm)  
_ Will do :). I will bring you back to life with my superpower - snuggly warm cuddles.

 

_From: Kurt (4.31 pm)  
_ Somehow I don’t think you chose one of the more /functional/ superpowers to have.

 

_From: Blaine (4.33 pm)  
_ Kurt. Do you not remember X-Men? Chronicle? The Avengers?? You can’t /choose/ your superpower. And I’ll have you know that a hug can be one of the most powerful tools a man can provide.

 

_From: Kurt (4.36 pm)  
_ In my defence I was very distracted when we watched those movies. It’s not my fault I can’t seem to take in the finer details of superpower convention when you’re there, squirming around in excitement like you always do. It’s not conducive to me being able to pay attention, Blaine.

 

_From: Blaine (4.37 pm)  
_ … I’m sorry?

 

_From: Kurt (4.37 pm)  
_ This isn’t me complaining.

 

_From: Blaine (4.40 pm)  
_ Well. Good.

 

_From: Kurt (4.41 pm)  
_ ;)

 

_From: Kurt (4.49 pm)  
_ Blaine? Still there?

 

_From: Blaine (4.51 pm)  
_ Hm. Yes. Yes, still here. I was just shocked into silence by you, one Kurt Hummel, using an emoticon.

 

_From: Kurt (4.52 pm)  
_ I like to use them sparingly so as to get the full effect. 

 

_From: Blaine (4.55 pm)  
_ Well. I think it’s safe to say it worked. Question: Are you literally texting me from underneath an SUV right now?

 

_From: Kurt (4.59 pm)  
_ Affirmative. I may or may not be hiding from my dad. He just arrived here and he keeps trying to talk to me at home. I thought I was safer down here. He’s not allowed to come help us in the shop. He’s not even supposed to be here at all. Why the hell is he even here? He’s supposed to be on bed rest. 

 

_From: Blaine (5.02 pm)  
_ If you let him say what he wants to say I imagine he’ll leave you alone after.

 

_From: Kurt (5.05 pm)  
_ That’s not how he works. He’ll get bored of this soon.

 

_From: Blaine (5.06 pm)  
_ What if he doesn’t?

 

_From: Kurt (5.06 pm)  
_ He will. 

 

_From: Blaine (5.07 pm)  
_ You never know. 

 

_From: Kurt (5.08 pm)  
_ No. I do know. He’s my dad remember? 

 

_From: Kurt (5.10 pm)  
_ Just leave it, please.

 

_From: Blaine (5.12 pm)  
_ Okay, fine. I’ll speak to you later? I’ve got to get back to Glee now.

 

_From: Kurt (5.12 pm)  
_ Of course.

 

_From: Blaine (5.13 pm)  
_ <3.

 

_From: Kurt (5.13 pm)_  
<3.

 

Kurt lowered the phone from where it had been hovering inches above his face and tucked it under his coveralls, down into the pocket of his jeans. 

"Kurt?"

Kurt squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep, steadying breath. Anger curled deep in his stomach, restless and relentless energy that refused to lie still. He squared his jaw and pushed himself out from under the car, brushing his coveralls off in small, jerky movements.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I'm starting to think you actually want me to be an orphan."

Burt swallowed thickly, rubbing his hand under the back of his cap. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Why can't you just drop it?"

Burt dug his hands into his pockets. "Because it's important."

Kurt met his gaze through slightly narrowed eyes. His father's shoulders were hunched forward, his chin dipped down but his eyes were determined and clear. "Why don't we take this into my office?" Burt suggested, tilting his head to the side.

Kurt stood his ground, unmoving.

"Please?"

Kurt held his head high, rolled his shoulders back, and wordlessly began to stride across the shop floor to the office.

He let himself into the room, the stuffy air catching in his lungs and flung himself into the old car seat that had been fashioned into a chair behind the desk, propping up his feet on the top of the bashed old metal filing cabinet beside it. He raised an eyebrow at his father, who was still hovering in the doorway.

Burt slowly closed the door behind him and walked to the side of the room, sinking down onto one of the low chairs that Kurt had once spent many hours a week, small feet swinging beneath him where they didn't reach the floor, peering around in interest at the work of the other mechanics through the window that looked out onto the shop floor.

Kurt twirled one his ear piercings, deliberately dropping his gaze to the desk in front of him. A photo frame immediately jumped out at him from behind the strewn piles of paperwork. His mother, smiling kindly at the lens, her arm tucked around a much smaller, much more colourful version of him. He blinked and looked away.

"So you're here," he said. "Clearly, Carole is essential for looking after you hand and foot. We need her. What on earth would you do without her. Oh-" he tapped a finger against his cheek and raised his eyes to the ceiling in deep thought. "Wait, where is she right now?"

"I thought it would be nice to talk here. Just us. On our own."

"Don't you just love it when you can't talk freely in your own home?" Kurt asked blithely.

Burt folded his hands together in his lap. "We need to talk about Christmas," he continued. "What do you want to do that's important to you?"

"Oh, you don't want to repeat the magnificent festivities of last year? That branch you called a Christmas Tree had a certain something about it."

"You wouldn't come with me to choose a tree, I don't know what kind of tree is best. I thought, you know, a tree's a tree and that was all there was to it."

Kurt ground his teeth in frustration. "Just think, for one second, as to why I might not have wanted to go Christmas Tree shopping with you."

Burt was back to looking lost again. "I'm sorry," he said, a roughness now present in his voice that wasn't there before.

Kurt just lifted a shoulder and let it drop.  

"Do you want to go get a tree together?"

Kurt drew both hands up to the side of his head, gesticulating out at Burt. "That's not what I'm saying! Listen to me."

"That's what I'm trying to do, Kurt."

Kurt cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. "What, you want a gold star for trying now?"

Burt rubbed a hand over his tired forehead. "No, Kurt. Look, I was thinking that this year we could maybe rekindle some of our old traditions that we used to do with your mom . "

"God, you're more transparent than a fucking window."

"In what way?"

Kurt just waved a dismissive hand. "Carole."

Burt leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Kurt, I understand if you can't let Carole into your heart yet, I really do. But I want to do this for us. It's just you and me, bud."

"No it's not," Kurt said tiredly. "And it never has been. It was me and mom, and you. Then it was just me. Now it's you and Carole and Finn, and me."

Burt took a sharp breath. “You’re my son,” he said, a note of pleading creeping into his thick voice. “We’ll always be family.”

Kurt paused, adrenaline coursing into him as he considered his response. He twitched his hand.  “That’s pure biology.”

Burt crumpled back in his seat, his gaze wrenching away from Kurt’s. Kurt watched, frozen in his chair, as the words sparked into understanding deep within his father’s eyes, a flare of resistance igniting, just for a second, before it quickly fizzled out, allowing his pupils to fall dark once again to leave just a hollow stare.

Kurt tried to swallow but there was a tight squeezing around his throat. He stood, blood rushing to his head, and walked on shaky legs to the door. He hesitated in the threshold and spoke in a low, clear voice, “You have to earn it.”


	27. Chapter 27

Kurt kept to his room for the final few days before Christmas, lock firmly slid shut, and music playing just loud enough so he could pretend that the house didn’t exist beyond his doorway.

His room was the cleanest it had ever been - his closet rearranged by colour, his socks lined up perfectly in the drawers, nine pairs along and three deep. He had organised his extensive collection of Vogue magazines by date, tying up each year’s worth of issues in thick ribbon, the earliest copies in a bright cobalt blue through to the most recent, in a deep burgundy. He had cleaned all his jewellery meticulously and sorted it into an antique jewellery box he had bought at a thrift store. He had even gone through all of his boots, polishing them and then re-scuffing them exactly how he wanted.

And yet he still felt jittery deep to his bones, rootless thoughts twisting through his mind refusing to quiet. 

After rearranging his scarves for the sixth time on Christmas Eve, Kurt collapsed down onto his bed with a deep sigh. He grabbed Baa from where he was tucked between his pillows and lay on his stomach, chin propped on his folded arms, and stared into the eyes of a small sheep as if it held the answers to all of his problems. 

Baa stared back, head cocked to one side.

“What?” Kurt asked it indignantly.

Baa didn’t move.

Kurt dropped his head to his arms, letting out a small huff and shaking his head. The phone rang. Kurt scooped it up from the nightstand, took in the smiling face of Blaine staring up at him and held it to his ear.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Kurt.” Blaine’s voice was warm and honey smooth. “How are you?”

“I was actually just having a chat with Baa here.” Kurt rolled onto his back and held up the sheep in front of his nose with his free hand and squinted up at him.

“I knew he would be a great conversationalist,” said Blaine.

A smile flickered across Kurt’s face, a tiny bloom of warmth settling in his chest.

“So what were you talking about? Things with your dad?” Blaine asked tentatively.

Kurt paused. “Yeah.”

“Did you manage to talk to him?”

“Yeah,” Kurt said again. “I don’t know. I think he’s only just realising how fucked up the whole situation is. Like it’s a fucking newsflash to him.”

“He really loves you, Kurt,” Blaine said, with conviction. “I can see it.”

Kurt squeezed his eyes closed. “Yeah, because he has to.” He bit on his lip, trying to control the waver in his voice. He swallowed down the rising lump in his throat and spoke almost in a whisper, “I don’t think he likes me, though.”

Blaine was silent for a moment. “That’s not true, Kurt.”

Kurt brought up a hand to pinch the skin on his forehead between his thumb and fingers. “I think it is,” he said. He withdrew his hand and rolled his eyes. “Oh God, that’s so fucking melodramatic.” He cleared his throat and forced some energy into his voice. “So how was your family thing?”

He could hear Blaine’s steady breaths, started counting them subconsciously into groups of three as he waited.

Blaine eventually sighed. “Fine. Pretty boring, but bearable. My dad didn’t try and set me up with friends’ daughters, which was a welcome turn of events.”

“I don’t have to scare off any girls? I have to say, Blaine, I am disappointed.”

“As much as I would like to see that, I’m glad you won’t have to.”

Kurt’s lips tipped into a smile. “Is the Glee club doing anything over Winter break?” he asked.

“There’s a New Year’s party, I think,” Blaine said

“Oh, you should go!” Kurt said. “You should be with your friends.”

Blaine paused. “I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“Why not?”

Kurt waited for Blaine again, unease building as Blaine delayed and delayed answering. “Well, I was thinking we could spend it together.”

“Why don’t you want to go to the party?”

“Don’t you want to celebrate New Year with me?” Blaine countered.

“Of course,” Kurt said, clenching his jaw, “But don’t you think it would be nice for you to spend some time with your friends?”

“It wouldn’t even be with just them,” Blaine said,  “They’re inviting loads of people. I don’t want to go, Kurt, I want to be with you.”

Kurt ran a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Why are you pushing this?” Blaine asked.

_Because you’re_ still _not telling me something and I don’t know why._ “Because I don’t want to prevent you from bonding with the Glee Club on my account. I’ll be fine here. Or I could come to the party with you. Ooh, that’s a good idea-”

“Kurt, I’m not going to the damn party!”

Kurt’s breath hitched and he snapped his mouth shut. The phone rustled in his ear and for one heart-stopping moment Kurt thought Blaine had hung up on him. He forced himself to breathe as the crackling continued. Blaine was still there. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Blaine said, quiet and defeated.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Kurt said softly. He yearned to reach down the phone and grip Blaine’s hand. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Another pause. “I don’t want to see school people, okay? Can we just have a quiet night together for New Year’s, please? Just the two of us?”

“Okay,” Kurt said, his voice small. “I would really like that, I promise. I just-. Okay. Yes. We are doing New Year’s together.”

The relief was palpable in Blaine’s tone as they continued to talk about other things for a few more minutes. Resolve was building inside Kurt, and he found it difficult to focus on the conversation as he pushed his hurt aside and his mind began to whir into action.

If Blaine wasn’t going to tell him what was wrong then he would just have to find out for himself.

 

*

 

After dinner that night, a knock sounded on Kurt’s closed door. He looked up from his magazine. There was a shadow blocking out the centre of the slither of yellow light underneath the door. It didn’t move, just swaying a little from side to side. Kurt shut the magazine slowly and rolled over onto his back, pushing himself up on his bed so that he leant against the headboard.

The knocking came again.

 Kurt closed his eyes and flexed his hands nervously before tucking them around his sides.

“What?” he asked, only just loud enough to reach the door.

The door was pushed gently open and Carole poked her head around it. “May I come in?”

Kurt ran his hand through his hair and shifted his jaw back and forth, something holding him back from biting out the obvious “ _no”._ She was holding herself differently. She looked, maybe for the first time, like she was in an unfamiliar house, tentative and unsure of herself and her place in it.

He nodded slowly.

She slipped through the space in the door and leant back against it to close it. She stayed there, hands still on the door handle behind her back.

“No shirtless boys in your room this time?” she asked with a weak smile.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at her.

“Sorry, bad joke,” she said, holding up a hand.

Kurt didn’t say anything, just stared at her, lips pressed together and head tilted on one side. She took a step towards him and paused, hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room as she looked around her. She sank down into his desk chair and twisted her hands together in her lap.

“Look, Kurt,” she said, dropping her gaze to the carpet before raising it to look at Kurt again, her eyes wide and imploring. “We all knew this was never going to be easy. I just want to say a couple of things about me, okay? I come in peace I promise.”

Kurt’s head dipped in concession before he could think about it. 

“I’m a mom, Kurt,” she said simply, spreading her hands in the air in front of her. “I’m a nurse. I care about people. I look after them. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. I don’t know how to be anything else. I don’t know how to turn that off.

“I know I’m not _your_ mom, I promise you I’m not trying to replace anyone, or be anything for you that you don’t want me to be. But I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be here without hurting you. I love your dad so very much, Kurt and he asked me to be here. I’m going to stay as long as he wants me. I’ve made mistakes, I’m human, I’m _sorry_. I’ve never done this before. It’s just been me and Finn for sixteen years. I’m tough, I do tough love. I’m really sorry if I’ve hurt you, I truly am.”

Kurt stared at the covers by his feet and picked at a loose thread. His throat was thick and he struggled to swallow.

“You’re hurting, but I don’t know how anything _I_ can do would help. I don’t think I can, to be honest, and I doubt you would want it anyway. But Kurt, no-ones deserves to be treated like the way you’ve treated me over the past few weeks. You didn’t even let me know about Burt’s heart attack out of spite. That just-.” She broke off and looked away, taking a few deep breaths before facing Kurt again. “Can we just, in the spirit of Christmas, call a truce? I’m not asking for anything more than that. Let’s allow your dad get back to full health in as stress free an environment as possible. He has been absolutely devastated these past couple of days. He won’t talk about it, but I know it must be something you’ve said.”

Kurt looked up at her sharply, eyes shocked into blazing.

“Not that way,” she said gently. “I’m just saying it must be something you’ve said because only you have the power and place in his heart to say something that could shatter him so completely.”

The fire died in Kurt’s eyes and his stomach dropped. He clutched the covers in his fist, staring intently at the creases and dips of the blanket, refusing to raise his head and look at her. 

There was a whisper of material as she got to her feet. “Thank you for listening,” she said softly, treading the short distance over to the door. 

“Carole,” Kurt said abruptly, as she had got a hand on the door handle. She paused and turned back to him. He continued, his voice creeping up in pitch, “You know in order for tough love to work there has to be _love_. I- can’t do that. And I don’t want that from you.”

She nodded, deep sadness swimming in her eyes, acceptance in the small give of her mouth. “That’s okay,” she said simply and with a small shrug of a shoulder. She sent him a tiny glint of a smile slipped back out of the door, pulling it to click shut quietly after her.

Kurt was left in his room in silence, her footsteps retreating into nothingness behind the door.

*

 

Kurt barely slept that night. He tossed and turned, flipping from one side to the other and twisting himself in his blankets, turning the pillows over again and again in search of soothing coolness. He curled up under the covers, stomach churning, over-tired and overwrought.

He finally clicked on the light at 5.00 am, unable to face his thoughts in the dark any more. Everyone else awake at this time on Christmas would be bouncing around the Christmas tree, dragging parents out of bed and tearing at wrapping paper. Instead, Kurt rolled out of bed silently, tugged on a pair of thick socks, a huge woollen sweater, and his mom’s scarf, snatched his cigarettes from the desk and slipped through the sleeping house, out the backdoor and sank down onto the steps of the deck.

Pushing his hair back from his face, he resolutely thrust his thoughts aside, lit his cigarette and watched the garden slowly transform from shadows silhouetted against the night into pale ghosts, the day dawning grey and cloudy. He tucked his chin into his scarf and drank in the smell of his mother, or, the closest he would ever get again to the smell of his mother. It was the scent that had floated after her in the air, sprayed on from a bottle. It wasn’t the smell of _her_ ,her skin, her body, her warmth, her tenderness as he used to tuck his face into her neck and close his eyes and just breathe her in. There was no word for that smell, for that feeling. There was no bottle in the world that could recreate that.

He brought his knees up to chin and pulled the sweater down around his legs, enveloping as much of his body as he could in warmth. He drifted, his head leaning against the post, barely even thinking as he brought the cigarette back and forth to his lips.

He was just so tired.

The sun fully risen, a happy shriek of a child in a nearby house startled him. Blinking, he got to his feet. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to slip inside, grab some breakfast and make it up to his room before everyone began to wake up. He turned back to the house and froze.

The light was on in the kitchen. Kurt’s heart dropped as he saw Carole at the sink, smiling and laughing. Finn came into view behind her, still in his pyjamas, rumpled and lumbering. Carole reached up to cup his cheek, a soft smile on her face.

Kurt bit his lip, an ache building in his chest. His fingers moved up to wind into his scarf, gripping the material tightly.

Through the window, Finn playfully rolled his eyes at his mother, a sheepish smile on his face as she patted his cheek and turned away towards fridge. Finn looked at her for a second, smile lingering after her. Carole appeared again a moment later, an apron now on. She seemed to sense someone watching her, and glanced out of the window. She caught Kurt’s eye, just for a second, her gaze warm and mouth still curved into a gentle smile. 

Kurt let his eyes slide quickly away from her, her eyes caught so open and full of love for her son. He wiped at his cheeks and ducked his head as he walked over to the back door and tugged it open.

The house was warm, much warmer than he had left it, and filled with the homey scent of Christmas cooking. Kurt’s stomach rolled at the thought. Soft hymns that Kurt didn’t recognise were playing from the speakers in the corner. 

Kurt didn’t bother trying to get breakfast, padding straight past them into the hallway. He took a deep breath once he was out of their sight, and paused for a moment to steady himself against the wall in the hall.

“Kurt?” his father’s low voice came from the sitting room.

Kurt sighed and heaved his weary body to upright again, pressing away the dampness under his eyes.

“Kurt?”

Kurt shuffled down the hall and into the doorway, clearing his throat in the place of a greeting.

His father was in his armchair in his robe, small and grey and looking every bit as drained as Kurt felt. A small pile of presents was on his lap, all of them wrapped appallingly, with enough sellotape to circumnavigate the world. Kurt swallowed, staying in the doorway.

“I got you a few things,” Burt said. “A couple of things of your mom’s I think you would like, and a couple of things for the future. It’s not much, but, Happy Christmas, Kurt.”

Burt held up a card for Kurt. Kurt eyed it for a second before reaching forward to take it wordlessly, holding it by the edges before slowly untucking the unsealed flap and pulling it out. Cartoon Santa and elves and reindeer covered the front. It was a child’s card. A card so obviously picked out by Burt. Kurt’s stomach twisted and he blinked rapidly, flipping open the card. His father’s scrawl wished him a Happy Christmas, ‘love, Dad’.

Kurt stared down at the writing, the perfect translation of his father’s gruff voice onto paper.

“I need you to know that I’m here,” Burt said, his voice subdued but Kurt recognised the steely grit behind the words. “I haven’t been, not really, but I am now, I promise you that.”

Kurt opened his mouth, but before he could sum up the energy to respond Burt had held out a hand to stop him. “I know you might not believe that just yet. It’s up to me to change that. I’m going to fix this, Kurt. I will do my damnedest to make this right.”

Kurt’s shoulders sank forward from their previously tense hold and he closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to fight. He was so close. So close to being gone for good. But the idea of being ‘gone for good’ didn’t fill him with as much relief as before. He looked across the room at the portrait of his mother and forced the air out through his nose, fixing his eyes back on Burt, his chin held just a little higher than before.

“I know you don’t think it’s worth it,” Burt said. “But can I just ask that you humour me? Please, buddy?” Burt was leaning forward towards him, over the pile of presents. Kurt didn’t move. “Can we sit down and talk about all of this? Properly. No walk-outs, no raised voices, no accusations, just us, man to man.”

Kurt shut the card he still held and ran a finger round the edges, heart thumping against his rib cage.  His shoulders slipped again.

“And I know it’s Christmas, but I just want to say one more thing. This whole situation with Finn,-”

“No,” Kurt said flatly. “We’re not doing this. It’s irrelevant now, anyway.”

Burt just sat back in his chair and raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

“It’s not,” Kurt insisted. “It was years ago now.”

“I’m going to need more than that.”

“I-,” Kurt faltered, searching his father’s eyes for signs of imminent retreat. For once he couldn’t find it. “I don’t want to go into it,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I'm not pressing because I want to upset you,” Burt said quietly. “I’m pressing because I’m worried, Kurt. I’m worried for you. I wish I’d talked about this sooner with you. I’m sorry.”

Kurt’s breath hitched in his throat and he managed to croak out, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Kurt nodded.

“Okay what?”

Kurt lifted his eyes to the ceiling and bit his bottom lip, blinking rapidly. “Okay we can have a conversation.”

Burt’s eyes glimmered across at him. “We can?”

“Yeah,” Kurt breathed.

“Thank you.”

Kurt nodded again, his movements leaden, his head heavy. He gestured to the gifts. “I’m going to take these upstairs. I’m going back to bed.”

Burt just gave a twitch of a smile, eyes still shining in disbelief. 

 

*

 

Kurt opened the biggest and squashiest of the presents as soon as he had got up to his room and locked the door, half an idea of what it was forming in his head.

He proved to be correct, tearing the wrapping paper back to reveal a thick woollen blanket that had been his as a child, but before that, his mother’s. He gathered it up in his arms, fingers clutching at the material he hadn’t felt or seen in years, and rested his chin on the duck egg blue blanket, allowing his weariness to sink deeper into his bones and he breathed, in, and out. In, and out.

His eyelids drooped. He laid out the blanket over his bed and climbed back under the covers, curling up under the new and welcome warmth.

 


	28. Chapter 28

As promised, Kurt and Blaine spent the last few hours of New Year’s Eve pressed against each other on Kurt’s bed. A movie flickered quietly in the background, but Kurt was far more interested in laying a trail of soft kisses up his boyfriend’s neck. Blaine was warm beneath him, all rumpled clothing and smooth skin, letting out tiny adorable gasping breaths as Kurt sucked gently just below his ear. 

Blaine was completely relaxed, as he only ever was when they were alone these days. Kurt was perfectly content to just let them be tonight and to not try to push Blaine into talking to him. He tucked away the hurt and confusion to back of his mind, resolute now that he would figure out what Blaine was hiding from him when they went back to school.  

Kurt settled further on top of Blaine, trying his best to lean most of his weight on his elbows and knees, but Blaine just ran his hands down Kurt’s back and tugged him down so that Kurt was sprawled over him. Blaine let out a low moan, sending a delicious swoop of warmth coursing through Kurt, and he grinned into their kiss.

He pushed his fingers up the sides of Blaine’s crumpled polo, running his hands up and down Blaine’s side from the soft give around his stomach to the hard ridges of his ribs, all the while pressing kiss after kiss onto Blaine; his neck, just under the collar of his shirt, his lips, his cheek, whenever was closest. He gradually rucked up the shirt until he could slip it up and over Blaine’s head, meeting Blaine’s wide and dark eyes as soon as he cast it aside and cupped Blaine’s jaw with his hands, thumbs stroking down his cheeks.

“Love you,” he murmured, lips brushing after Blaine’s as he spoke, and closed the tiny space between them to set an open kiss to Blaine’s soft, parted lips. Blaine gave a little hum into the kiss and pressed up into him, sliding his arms back around Kurt’s waist and holding him tighter, arching up into Kurt and sealing their mouths together, tongues caressing and exploring, Blaine searching out the piercing and circling it, slowly, teasing, knowing exactly what it did to Kurt. 

What was once warm now burned, heat flooding to the pit of Kurt’s stomach and the apples of his cheeks. Their breath was loud and sharp in Kurt’s ears, and everything outside of _Blaine_ and _here_ melted away. Every inhale filled his lungs with the indescribable and addictive scent of Blaine’s skin, and he pulled away from Blaine’s mouth and buried his nose back into Blaine’s neck, sucking into the spot where his scent was strongest, just under the strong line of his jaw, and curling his tongue into the fine sheen of sweat forming on Blaine’s skin. 

Blaine let out a surprised “ _Oh”_ beneath him and squirmed, their hips rubbing against each other for the first time.

Sparks fizzed up Kurt’s spine and he instinctively pressed his hips back and let out a high pitched whine at the white-hot friction. Kurt froze at the sound of his own voice, startled into his body, and pulled away from Blaine’s neck with a loud smack. Blaine’s eyes were closed and cheeks flooded with colour, head leant back and neck straining up to where Kurt had been, hands fisted into Kurt’s tank top. He slowly blinked his eyes open to meet Kurt’s, pupils still blown and looking utterly wrecked.

Kurt breathed heavily, hand trailing down Blaine’s arm and gently unclenching the fist still in his tank top to twine their fingers together, grounding himself in the familiar sensation of Blaine’s palm against his. 

“I’m sor-,” he started to whisper, but Blaine cut him off with a shake of his head, his kiss swollen lips curling up into a beatific smile. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Kurt looked deep into Blaine’s eyes. “Soon, I promise.”

Blaine let go of Kurt’s shirt with his other hand and reached up to brush back the pink locks of hair falling in front of his face. “There’s no rush.” He leant up and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Kurt’s lips. Kurt’s arms turned to jelly and he slumped back down, resting his chin on Blaine’s chest. Blaine continued to smooth Kurt’s hair, and Kurt’s breathing finally started to even out.

Blaine glanced over at the clock. “It’s eleven fifty-seven,” he said. “How about we get started on that New Year’s kiss, hm?”

Kurt let out a breath of laughter, lifting himself back up onto his elbows. “Always so keen to be ahead of the curve.” 

Blaine grinned, wiggling his head back into the pillow and looking up at Kurt, eyes sparkling. Kurt heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I’ll allow it,” he said, barely able to keep a hold on the giddy smile pulling at his lips.

“So obliging,” Blaine said, and stretched up to press their lips together once more.

 

*****

 

The next morning, Kurt shuffled in a sleepy haze across his room to the bathroom, leaving Blaine snuffling adorably into his recently vacated spot on the bed. He rubbed at his eyes with clumsy fingers and blinked them open. He noticed a card on the floor just next to the door. It had obviously been slipped under it at some point during the night. He reached down and untucked the envelope, pulling out the card.

_Happy New Year!_ screamed out at him. 

Kurt rolled his eyes at it, but smiled, reaching up and propping it up on his shelf. 

 

*

 

When school began again in the new year, Blaine retreated completely into himself. Kurt watched, his heart heavy, as his beautiful, colourful boyfriend shrank back, let himself disappear into the dull masses of McKinley. Worry twisted like a knot in his stomach, panic rushing through his veins mixed with something that felt a lot like guilt.

This was his fault. This.. _thing_ that was happening to Blaine was his fault. His suspicions were growing more solid everyday; he could recognise the signs, but he should have noticed them earlier, _fuck_. They manifested slightly differently in Blaine than in himself - the same thing that had caused Kurt to force himself to walk taller than he ever had before and resolutely _not give a shit_ no matter what _,_ was the same thing that was causing Blaine to make himself smaller than he had ever been. As Kurt had made himself bigger, Blaine wanted to disappear. 

When Kurt _did_ see Blaine, it was a fleeting glimpse down the end of a hallway, shoulders hunched forwards, making himself small as he darted into a classroom or around the corner. At lunch he was always on edge, even when it was just the two of them, even when they were completely alone and far away from the rest of the school.

Quinn. He needed to find Quinn.

He checked all of Quinn’s old usual haunts, the bleachers, the courtyard, the delivery entrance to the school students weren’t supposed to go, always subconsciously keeping an eye out for Blaine too, but he was unsuccessful on both counts. 

He caught sight of a group of some of the Glee kids, not including Blaine, at the end of a hallway in the rush between classes. Pushing his way through the masses of people, he caught glimpses of them here and there, searching for that shock of pink.

The corridors were emptying, the bell surely just about to ring, when one of the group, a blonde in a pretty dress, made towards a classroom, trailing a hand over the arm of Puckerman as she left.

She turned to send a few parting words to the group as she reached the door, blonde hair fanning out behind her and a carefree smile bright on her lips. 

Quinn.

Kurt jolted to a stop. A student knocked into his back but he paid them no attention, staring at Quinn.

Her gaze slid from Puckerman to him, the smile slipping from her face as she stared straight back at him. Her chin tipped upwards as she narrowed her eyes in steely defiance.

Kurt swallowed down the familiar twist of betrayal.

“What-,” he ground out, “-the _fuck?_ ”

She took a step towards him. The rest of the corridor was empty now, the click of her white Mary Jane’s loud in the silence.

“Can we talk?” she said, her hands giving her away for a brief second as they twisted together before her quickly smooth them down the sides of her dress. “Please?”

“Not here.” He turned abruptly on his heel and strode off down the corridor. The soft _clack-clack_ of her heels confirmed she was following. He didn’t look back as he led them out to the bleachers.

He swung around to face her, arms crossed over his body. “I’ll say it again. What the _fuck_ , Fabray?”

She pursed her lips, mirroring him and folding her arms primly. “Is there a problem?”

Kurt gave a harsh laugh, the sound ripping into the cold air. “ _Is there a problem?_ ” he mimicked. “Okay, what’s the angle here?”

“What? I don’t-”

“What are you doing with this? Who are you trying to manipulate this time, hm? Who are you trying to prove that you’re a good little girl to?”

She bit her lip, her arms tightening around her body. “There’s no game,” she said in a low voice. “Why are you being like this with me?”

Kurt scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Because someone doesn’t just do a complete 180 like this in like, a day, without there being some motivation behind it. What are you up to? You want Puckerman to fall for the good girl act? The bad girl charade not playing out so well for you with him after all? Or maybe this is another bid to get Beth back, huh?” The cruel words kept slipping from his lips. “It didn’t work the first time in New York, but hey, why not try again? Why not try and steal a child back from it’s true mother?”

Kurt breathed heavily as he fell silent, digging around his pockets for a cigarette. Quinn didn’t say anything, didn’t move, her eyes flashing with anger and pain. Kurt finally got his hand on a squashed pack of cigarettes in his back pocket and lifted one to his lips, fumbling with the lighter.

Quinn still wasn’t saying anything.

Kurt took a long drag and plucked the cigarette from between his lips with his thumb and forefinger. “When did this happen?”

“Over the weekend.”

He sucked on his cigarette. “Why?”

She looked at him, her gaze sad. “This isn’t who I am,” she said, gesturing to Kurt. 

“And what is ‘this’?”

“The whole thing, Kurt. I guess I finally realised there’s no point pretending to be something I’m not. It wasn’t healthy for me. Can’t you see that? We’re not _skanks_. That’s not who we’re supposed to be.”

“Very few people end up being exactly who they’re ‘supposed to be’.”

“Right. I’m just saying that I wasn’t being true to myself. I’m happy in Glee Club, and happy with the person I am in Glee Club.”

Kurt swallowed. “So what, you were bullshitting this whole time?  You were pretending?”

“No, not the whole time. But don’t you think you are, too?” she said. “You’re not any of the things you look like you should be. You’ve never done anything remotely ‘skanky’ except dress the part. All you do is smoke, and it took you long enough to not be able to cough up a lung. You acted out because it was the only way at the time. It worked in the ways you wanted it to work. Maybe it worked for me, too. But _now.”_ She shook her head again. “You don’t drink, you were never interested in sex, you kept your grades reasonable, you would never take drugs, or attack anyone. If there’s anyone with an act, a _charade,_ if you want to put it that way, it’s you, Kurt.”

Kurt bristled. “Who the fuck says I have to fit all the characteristics in order to choose to dress like this? There isn’t a fucking check list of all the things I need to be before I am allowed to actually want to be like this. I can be however, and whoever, I want. Dress however the fuck I want.”

“Exactly,” she said forcefully. “Then so can I. And you don’t get to judge me for it.”

Kurt’s retort stuck in his throat and he sat down, hard, on the bench. 

“I just-,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it.”

She sat down next to him. “What don’t you get?”

“You’re _friends_ with these people? After every single one of them turned their back on you, judged you? How can you trust them?”

“It’s difficult to explain. I think it’s just because I guess I’ve realised that it’s just not worth it. I’m so _tired_ of holding a grudge. The ones that matter most to me have apologised. I’m trying to swallow my pride and just accept it. Because there’s nothing else to do. Otherwise I’d just become-.” She cut herself off. 

“Me,” Kurt filled in for her, quiet and finite. 

She sighed. “Look, Kurt, this isn’t a personality 180 in a couple of days. This is the final piece in a transition I’ve been going through for months. I’ve been going to therapy, talking to my mom again, I have _friends,_ I sing, things with Noah are good. I think I’m happy. Or, at least, I’m definitely on the way to being there.” She searched out his gaze, turning fully sideways on the bench to face him. “Please don’t hold that against me.”

Kurt lowered his elbows to lean on his thighs and ducked his head, analysing the glowing end of cigarette now tucked between two fingers. “I’ll miss you,” he said quietly, blowing a stream of smoke out slowly. “I _have_ missed you over these past couple of months.”

“Bullshit,” she said easily. “You’ve been too wrapped up in Blaine to miss me. And don’t be such an idiot, you won’t have to miss me. We’re still friends. We’ll always be friends.”

He swivelled his head towards her in surprise. “You still-?”

“You stuck by me during the most difficult two years of my life. You came to New York with me. I want to be here for you, too.”

He turned to face the ground, the tight clamp around his heart loosening and flooding him with warmth. 

“All that hair dye’s gone to your head, you’ve gone all mushy,” he said finally.

She smiled at him and reached forward to squeeze his hand briefly. “There are worse things.”

Kurt hummed in agreement, his mind swerving back, as it always seemed to these days, to Blaine. 

“I was actually looking for you before.”

She cocked her head with interest.

“I wanted to talk to you about Blaine.”

“Ah,” she said, with that little knowing smile. 

“He, uh, I wanted to ask if you noticed anyone, um, if you’d seen anything or anyone being, um. Is he different than usual, you know, in Glee Club?”

“I haven’t been in Glee Club very long,” she said slowly, eyes far off in thought. “I guess he’s quiet? But he’s always been quiet.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Kurt sighed. 

“Is there something wrong between the two of you?”

Kurt tapped the ash from his cigarette, spreading the fallen material with the sole of his boot across the ridged concrete. “Not really. He’s… keeping something from me, something in school, and it’s really upsetting him but he refuses to tell me about it. After everything, who would have thought that it would be Blaine withholding information in our relationship?” he said bitterly.

She considered him for a moment. “Have you asked him point blank?”

“Well, no.”

“Maybe start there? And I promise I’ll keep my eye out for him.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, digging his toe down onto the concrete.

There was a pause. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” Quinn said softly.

Kurt shrugged. “I love him.”

Quinn’s small, soft hand found his again. “Well then, I promise I’ll do my best to make sure he’s okay. I could talk to Noah and the other guys if you want?’

“No,” Kurt said forcefully. “Not them. No-one else. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she soothed. “I won’t ask anyone.”

Kurt squeezed at her hand in thanks, glancing up at her. “Who did your hair?”

“Mercedes helped me.”

“It looks good.”

She smiled at him knowingly, her head on one side. “But you could have done it better?”

“Naturally,” he said with a wave of his hand.

Her smile widened and she got to her feet.

“I should get back to class.”

Kurt nodded, making no effort to get up.

“It was good to talk to you again. Let’s not make it so long next time. I’ll look out for Blaine.”

She took a couple of steps away but then paused and turned back to him. “Oh, and Kurt, you’re allowed to be pissed at me, you can take out crap on me, that’s what I’m here for, but if you bring up Beth like that again you will regret it. Don’t you fucking _dare_.”

Kurt nodded, dipping his head to hide the small smile spreading across his face as she clacked away. It was reassuring that his Quinn was still in there.

 

*

 

Kurt pushed open the front door after school, slipping through the slender gap and closing it behind him with as quiet a _click_ as he could. The sounds of some sport or other on TV filtered through from the sitting room as he bent down to untie his boots, the commentator loud and grating over the roar of the crowd. Just as he tucked the boots away, their heels backed against the wall, the sound lowered. 

“-don’t want me to tell you?” That was Finn speaking.

“No,” came the low voice of Burt.

Kurt straightened silently, taking small steps into the hallway towards the sitting room.

“I would tell you if you asked me what happened,” Finn said. 

Kurt stilled once again, his hands clenching into fists rhythmically.

“That’s why I’m not going to ask,” Burt said after a pause.

“I don’t get it,” Finn said, confusion clear in his voice. “You want to know but you don’t want me to tell you?”

Kurt heard his father sigh heavily. “Yeah. I need to hear this from Kurt, and only Kurt. As much as I want, and need, to know, I’ll wait. It’s for him to tell me, whenever he’s ready. You are the last person I should hear this from, Finn. Maybe after he’s told me we’ll have to have a... discussion, but we’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.”

“I, uh, well, just know that I am sorry about it, okay? I have tried to apologise but-”

“Finn,” Burt interrupted. “Save it. I will make the decision about whether or not we will need go into this more later. My guess is yes, but just save it for now, okay?”

There was a silence for a moment, and Kurt presumed that Finn must have nodded before the volume on the TV increased, the sounds of the game building once more. 

Kurt swallowed, propping himself up with a hand against the wall. His dad was clearly expecting him to talk about... that. He pressed his fingers into his clammy forehead, trying to imagine himself saying the words, actually telling his father about what had happened. He shook his head from side to side in tiny movements. 

He couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

Pushing himself off the wall, he reached behind him, reopened the front door and slammed it shut to announce his ‘arrival’.

“Kurt?” Burt called from the sitting room. “That you?”

Kurt didn’t reply, just traipsed into the hall and started up the stairs.

Burt appeared in the sitting room doorway. “This weekend still good for our talk, buddy?”

Kurt clenched his jaw. “Um, no, busy plans,” Kurt ground out.

“Oh yeah? With Blaine? All weekend?”

Kurt paused at the top of the stairs. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure you can pencil me in for an hour or so,” Burt said, hands in his robe pockets. “You promised, Kurt.”

“Fine,” Kurt sighed. “Yes. Sunday afternoon.”

“Great. How about you make a list of everything you want to say? It might make it a little easier.”

Kurt snorted under his breath, set across the upstairs landing to his room and swung his door shut behind him.

That conversation could never and would never be anything remotely close to _easy._

 

*****

 

After the last class of school the next day, Kurt was wandering towards his locker, avoiding, as usual, the prospect of going home. He scuffed the linoleum tiles with his boots, ambling slowly as a few students rushed around him, eager to leave.

He glanced down the corridor, at the end of which the double doors swung to a close. But he had seen them. Finn and Blaine. He craned his neck, heart beginning to thump in his chest, trying to see more clearly through the small windows set in the doors.

They had paused by the door to the choir room, Blaine by the wall, small, hunched, defensive, while Finn was standing tall in front of him, gesturing with his arms and looming over Blaine, too close, too overpowering, _too much._

Kurt saw red.

He didn’t pause to think, didn’t wait for anything before he started forwards down the corridor, a wounded sound tearing from his throat as his gait increased quickly into a tearing sprint. Just as he opened his mouth to shout properly, Blaine slipped behind him into a classroom.

Kurt kept running, undeterred. It was Finn he wanted. Fucking _Finn._

Kurt slammed through the double doors and Finn looked over in alarm, his brow furrowing before Kurt rammed into him, pushing Finn with all his strength back against the wall. His arms were trembling, but not with exertion, anger and fierce drive to _protect_ giving him all the force he needed to shove Finn back and keep him there.

He got up in Finn’s face, snarling, “What the _fuck_ have you done to Blaine?” 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the hiatus, guys. But I'm back! And posting twice a week on Tuesdays and Saturdays until it's complete. Yay!

“What the fuck have you done to Blaine?”

“What?” Finn spluttered, mouth hung open in shock. “Dude, what?”

Kurt shoved him back against the wall once more. “What,” he growled, “have you been doing to Blaine?”

Finn blinked at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kurt tightened his fists around the material of Finn’s hoodie, pulling it taut as he continued to hold him flat against the wall. “Are you seriously going to deny it? I just saw you.”

“Just saw me doing what?” Finn asked, still baffled.

“Threatening Blaine!”

“What?”

Kurt spoke through gritted teeth. “You were literally stood right where I am now, threatening Blaine.” His voice rose. “I am not going to let you do to him what you did to me!”

Finn slid sideways along the wall, managing to prise Kurt’s hands away from him and step away before Kurt could lunge back at him. He held up his hands. “I wasn’t threatening him.”

“Like fuck you weren’t,” Kurt snorted. “And I suppose you never did anything to me either, right?”

Kurt’s arms were rigid at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms.

“I’ve apologised for that!” Finn yelped. “I don’t know what else I can do! I really wasn’t threatening Blaine. You don’t need to get all up in my face. I was trying to help him.”

“Oh, come on,” Kurt said, with a frustrated roll of his eyes. “You were looming over him. Cut the crap. If you are doing even a tiny fraction of what you did to me I swear I will-“

“I promise you I was trying to help him.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Finn. “Okay, let’s say I indulge this for one second. Help him with what?”

Finn winced. “I can’t tell you that.”

“How convenient,” Kurt said flatly.

“It’s not up to me to tell you,” Finn insisted. “You should hear this from him.”

“I should hear this from him,” Kurt echoed slowly, the words ringing familiar. The conversation he had overheard. “Oh, Jesus, you’re literally going to take everything my dad says as gospel, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kurt said. “Tell me what you said to Blaine just then.” Finn didn’t speak, an apologetic grimace pulling at his face. Kurt let out a sharp breath. “You don’t have to give specifics if it will violate your man-code, or whatever.”

“You should really talk to your boyfriend about this, dude.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Kurt snapped. “Just spit it out, Finn.”

“Look, I was trying to offer my help just then, because of how I was to Blaine when he first got here. I thought I could offer to help him out now with this… thing he has, as like, renaissance or something-”

“Repentance.”

“Sure. So I was offering to help and then he was all like, ‘no, I don’t need your help’, and then he just left. That’s all that happened. That’s all you saw. Really.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” Kurt asked, quiet and dangerous. “After everything. I know what you’re capable of.”

Finn held out his hands to the side helplessly. “I’m sorry. I swear to you I’ve changed. Look, just, talk to Blaine, okay? He needs someone to help him, if he won’t let me.”

Kurt chest tightened. “Thanks for your concern,” he ground out, turning on the heel of his boot and striding away back the way he came.

 

*

 

Kurt spent the majority of the weekend holed up in his room. Blaine came over on Saturday morning, and they curled up together on Kurt’s bed and watched TV. Blaine was subdued, a smile quick to his lips but weariness lingering in his eyes. Kurt held him closer, unable to bring himself to demand an explanation from him. Finn lumbered along the hallway outside, a constant reminder of what Kurt needed to do.

Blaine eventually left that evening. Kurt squeezed his hand by the front door, guilt swirling in the pit of his stomach, and he asked if he was okay one more time, pleading with his eyes, giving him that one more opening to tell Kurt what was going on. All he got was a weak smile and a, “Nothing, I’m fine,” in reply.

It was all Kurt could do to press a kiss to Blaine’s cheek and see him out of the front door, his face crumbling as Blaine walked slowly to his car. Why would nobody talk to him?

Kurt dragged himself back up to his room. Tomorrow was the day.

 

*

 

“Where are Carole and Finn?” Kurt asked his cup of coffee, breaking the silence in the room.

“I asked them to go out for the afternoon,” Burt replied from the seat opposite him at the kitchen table.

Silence fell once more. Kurt cradled his steaming mug with both his hands and slumped further in his seat. His father sat completely still across from him.

Kurt tipped his mug towards himself, staring into it, cloudy coffee rippling with bright ridges in the light.  

“Did you manage to make a list, or anything?” Burt asked.

Kurt pressed his lips together, mind turning to the trashcan brimming with crumpled paper in his room. He shook his head.

“Okay,” Burt said slowly. “Where do you want to start?”

Kurt tipped a shoulder up noncommittally. “You were the one who wanted this conversation. You go first.”

His father rearranged himself in his seat, sitting up with elbows resting on the table and hands folded between them. “I just want to know what’s going on in that head of yours. I want to be able to talk to you, I want us to communicate.”

Kurt tucked an arm around his chest, shoulders hunching forward.

“Kurt.”

Kurt glanced up.

“Please try?”

Kurt ducked his head again, digging his thumb into his side and running it along the ridge of a rib.

“I don’t want to talk at you,” Burt continued. “I need this is be a conversation. I need to know what you’re feeling.”

“Fine,” Kurt said eventually, tilting his head up to meet his father’s eye. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you. Well, let’s not beat around any more bushes. Let’s get stuck in.”

Kurt snorted. “Always such a graceful conversationalist.”

“You know that’s not my style.”

Kurt trailed a finger around the rim of the mug. He did know that. He was surprised to find it oddly comforting that he knew that.

“So, how are you?” Burt asked.

“Really?” Kurt said in a flat voice. “‘How are you?’ That’s what you’re going with?”

“Gotta start somewhere,” Burt shrugged. “May as well be with that.”

Kurt stared at him. His father continued to look at him steadily. “I am just fan-freaking-tastic.”

“Kurt,” Burt warned gently.

“You want me to be truthful. You want to know how I was feeling. Well, this is it, dad, that’s how I’m feeling. Most of the time I am so fucking pissed off I can barely breathe.”

“And the rest of the time? How do you feel then?”

Kurt’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the question. “I have no idea. I-, don’t know.”

“Okay,” Burt said, in thought. “Why, right now, in this moment, are you pissed?”

Kurt turned his head away with a short exhalation, his breath catching halfway up his throat and lacing his words with vulnerable disbelief. “You really want to know?”

His father’s voice was quiet. “I really want to know.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Right now, in this moment, I’m pissed off that I agreed to have this fucking conversation with you in the first place.” Burt held Kurt’s gaze for a moment, his face inscrutable, then lowered his head, eyes still firmly on Kurt, and twitched a smile. Kurt couldn’t help but reflect the movement, warmth tugging at the corner of his lips. He concentrated on that tiny suggestion of warmth, closing his eyes and feeling it diffuse throughout his body. He put the mug down on the table and twisted his hands together in his lap, swallowing before he spoke. “That gallumphing ignoramus you let in the house is not telling me something important about my boyfriend because of some misguided honour code that you taught him. The aforementioned boyfriend is upset and keeping a thing from me and I have no idea why, because I think it’s a thing that is kind of my area of expertise.” Kurt looked up from his hands. “Is that good enough?”

“Of course,” Burt said. “All I’m trying to do is nudge open the door here. So, what’s this thing going on with Blaine?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Kurt-”

“No,” he said, with a simple shrug and a downward pull of his lips. “There are limits.”

Burt considered him closely. “And if I ask about Finn?”

Kurt paused, retracing the path of his fingers around his mug. “I would say that you invited him into this house without any kind of consideration for me, when I clearly said I fucking despised him. And now you’re worried about me and my history with him? That’s bullshit. You don’t deserve an explanation. You shouldn’t have needed an explanation in the first place to stop him from coming to live here. You should have my word. That’s what you’re supposed to do as my father.” Kurt’s chin trembled and he clamped his jaw shut. “And yet again I find myself dispensing parenting advice.”

“I’m sorry,” Burt said. “I’m not going to make excuses. I am so sorry that I let you down. I don’t really know how I can prove that to you. I’m just going to explain though, okay? Not excuse it.” Burt paused, waiting for some kind of signal from Kurt to continue. Kurt glanced to the side and flicked of his wrist in a dispassionate indication of acquiescence. Burt took a deep breath. “When I was in hospital there seemed like there were so few options. There didn’t seem to me to be any way to move forward other than to have Carole move in. We were stagnant, Kurt. Something had to give.”

“And the thing that had to give was apparently me,” Kurt murmured, propping his foot on the chair so that he could rest his chin on his knee. “Always at my expense.”

“No,” Burt said quietly, firmly.

Kurt looked up. “Excuse me?”

“No,” Burt repeated. “It wasn’t.”

Kurt stared at him expectantly. When Burt didn’t continue, Kurt said, “Are you going to elaborate, or am I just supposed to just take that at face value?”

Burt seemed to sink in his chair, his eyes on the table.

“Do you know how I felt after your mom died?”

Kurt tightened his arms around his knee. “Is this a trick question?”

“No,” Burt sighed. “Okay. All I felt, for an agonisingly long amount of time, was anger.”

“Well, yeah,” Kurt said, impatient. “Of course, that fucking guy just got away-“

“No, Kurt,” Burt interrupted, quietly. “Not at him. I was angry at her. At your mom. At my Lizzie.” His voice cracked.  

“I was so angry at her for leaving us, for leaving you with me, for keeping you from me when she was alive, for not trying more to help me get to know you and understand you.”

Kurt swallowed, a clamp so tight around his chest he couldn’t breathe.

“It was completely irrational, of course,” Burt continued. “All of that is me being pissed at myself, but I didn’t see that then. It tore me apart. I was so damn ashamed of the way I was feeling. I didn’t know what to do without her.”

“You don’t think I would have wanted to know this?” Kurt asked.

“You wouldn’t have understood,” Burt said. “I couldn’t explain it to myself - I have no idea how I could have explained it to you. I couldn’t put that on you. It would have shattered you, and you were already broken. You were doing what you were doing to cope in the best way you could. So was I. I tried to get to you, but you pushed me away, and you kept me there.”

“You’re supposed to know I need someone to push back,” Kurt said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Burt leant forward, biting down on his bottom lip as he stared at Kurt, and then sat back in his chair with a slow and shaky release of breath. “I did. I do. But I don’t think you get how difficult it is to get through to you once you’ve shut down. Your mom could do it but-. You’ve never let me in.”

Kurt was silent. As much as he wanted to argue with his dad, as much as the ache in his heart implored him to refute that, shout at his father for never trying hard enough god fucking damn it, something was holding him back.

“Do you remember all those tea parties you used to have as a kid?” Burt asked quietly, when Kurt didn’t speak.

Kurt’s brow furrowed. “Sure.”

“There’s one that I always remember, that I’ve gone back to so many times. I think you must have been eight at the time. You had all your toys, serving them tea like we were at the Ritz or something. But I was still trying to get you into baseball. Your mom laid into me so hard about that.” A rueful smile spread across Burt’s face, a far-off look glazing his eyes over. “That was the last time. She was terrifying when she was pissed.” He raised his eyebrows significantly at Kurt. “Even more when she was telling me something I already knew. After that, I did my damnedest to get to know you, speak your language, in your terms, but I think you’d given up on me. You went to your mom for everything.”

“And then suddenly she was gone. And everything went to hell.”

Kurt brought up a hand and rubbed across his forehead with increasingly forceful movements, pinching the skin between his thumb and forefingers before stretching it out again and pushing his hand back through his hair.

“Mom-,” he started, but his voice cracked and he squeezed his eyes shut, his face crumpling. A couple of hots tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and he pushed them away.

“Mom was-,” he tried again, but again he broke off, words strangled in his throat. He ducked his head and pressed his forehead hard into his still propped up knee. “My best friend,” he whispered. “My mommy.”

His breath hitched and he sat up quickly, rubbing his hands vigorously over his eyes. “This is-, fuck, four years, I should be like, whatever. I don’t-.“ He looked back at Burt. His father’s eyes were gleaming with agony. Kurt waved his hand helplessly in the thin air around him and continued, his voice thick. “How am I still here four years later? I don’t understand how that’s happened. How have I not seen mom for four years?” His breathing quickened, his chest sharply rising and falling, desperation growing. “How are you okay? Why is the world still turning when all I want is to hear mom’s voice again?”

“I don’t know, bud. I don’t know how that happens but I do know that all we can do is keep going. Keep living. Remember her, keep her in our hearts, and keep moving forward.”

“I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing that! Everyone’s just doing it and I haven’t figured out how and I don’t know how to get past this. I think of mom and all I feel is pain and anger. For four years. Everyone’s waltzing on with their lives and I don’t know how you’re doing this because mom is dead. How can you find room for anything else?”

“There’s no secret. There’s not a series of things to be checked off so that you can dust your hands and say ‘well that’s that dealt with, let’s move on now’.”

“But you’ve done it. You’ve done it here, right in front of mom’s nose. This is her place. Sometimes I will catch a trace of her scent—not her perfume—her, that mom smell that I couldn’t ever describe and I feel safe, just for a moment. Sometimes I think I can hear her humming under her breath in the next room. Not in a creepy way, in a comforting way. Like she could breeze in, give me a kiss on the forehead and ask me how my day is going. How do you not get how insulting that is that you’ve brought Carole here? How would mom would feel?”

“Kurt,” Burt breathed. “She’s not here.” He gestured around at the room and repeated softly, but clearly, “She’s not here. Your memories of her are just that, memories that you get to keep and cherish and no-one can take that away from you. She can’t come back to us, but she’ll always be felt. In both of us. She won’t be forgotten.”

“But, Carole-”

“How I feel about Carole in no way changes how I feel about your mom.”

“But that’s bullshit. That’s impossible. If you still love mom then you’re cheating on her, simple as that. Don’t throw this crap at me about having enough room in your heart for the both of them. That’s shit. It’s an excuse.”

Burt rubbed his hands down the side of his face. “It’s never as simple as that. She’s not here. I love her, of course I do, I always will. And it’s because I’m so sure of my love for her as I was of her love for me that I know she would want me to be happy. She would want you to be happy. She wouldn’t want us to spend our lives mourning her. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back.”  

The simmer of frustration lying low in Kurt’s stomach boiled again. “This is horse shit! You spent four years of your life doing fuck all. Fuck all for yourself, fuck all for me, fuck all for mom and what she would want. You don’t get to just decide that four years is the cut off point. You don’t get to decide that because you’ve found Carole and rediscovered the meaning of life and moved on or some crap that I have to, too.”

“I’m just trying to help you.”

“Maybe I would have listened four years ago, in fact, if we’re telling the truth, then yes, I was desperate for you to do… something, anything, four years ago.”

“Kurt-”

Kurt shook his head fiercely. “No. Why aren’t you getting this? The whole basis of this? It shouldn’t have been Carole who showed you that life was worth living, it should have been me.” His voice was fracturing on each word, on the edge of breaking. “It’s supposed to be me. I’ve never left. I’ve always been here but you didn’t see me. You never bothered with me. You gave up.”

“There’s only so many times you can throw yourself at a brick wall.”

“That’s not how it was!”

“Yes, Kurt, it was. You closed down. Nothing came in or out. Not even that first Christmas, when I tried to make you dinner like your mom did.”

Memories that he had firmly pushed down flared through his mind, the sky starless and dark, familiar smells filtering through from the kitchen to his room and filling his lungs with nothing but searing pain. He had shut himself in his closet, burying his face in her silk scarf. Nothing could have brought him out of there.

“I just wanted you to talk to me about her,” Kurt choked out. “Not try and recreate things that couldn’t ever happen again.”

“Okay. I get that,” Burt said.

“And then,” Kurt said, “You tried to include Carole in these re-creations. And Finn. Finn. The boy who humiliated me so thoroughly was being put automatically above me. By my own father. It’s just-. Carole has a ready made son, the perfect Hummel man that you’ve always wanted. Finn is everything you’ve ever wanted in a son. He’s the kid you dreamed of having when you first pictured yourself with a family. He’s who you wanted me to be.”

“Maybe,” Burt said, voice gravelly.

Kurt stared at Burt in shock.

Burt leant forward again, looking at Kurt imploringly and spreading his arms. “I’m not gonna lie to you. That’s what I pictured when I first found out I was going to be a dad, eighteen years ago. I thought it would be all about teaching life lessons about what it is to be a man while we played ball in the backyard. You imagine that your kid will share your interests and you can have that in common with them, that you can form that depth of bond over something you share. But you learn that none of that matters. What matters is that you’re my son, and I love you.”

Kurt’s heart thudded. He bit down, hard, on his bottom lip.

“I love you, Kurt,” Burt repeated.

Kurt blinked, the movement slow and controlled as he tried to squeeze down the tightness in his throat. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have to. You just said. The only reason you love me is just because I’m your son. It’s like I said back at the garage. It’s pure biology.”

Burt leant in further, elbows on the table. “No. There’s a difference. There’s no ‘just’. I love you because you’re my son. You. You are my son.”

Kurt clawed at his side with his fingers, gripping the material with everything he had. He dropped his voice back to a whisper. “I don’t believe that you can truly love me after you weren’t there when I needed you the most.”

Burt squeezed his hands over his eyes, rubbing at the tired skin and blocking his face from Kurt’s view. “I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to show you,” he said. “I’m not going to stop trying.”

Kurt shrugged as carelessly as he could, shaking his head at the floor. He flicked away another tear. “I don’t believe you.”

 

*

 

Kurt heaved himself up in his chair, pushing it back away from the table. He scrunched his toes for a moment into a blunt point down into the floor while he gathered himself, eyes sliding shut and chin dipping in preparation. He flexed his foot flat on the floor and rose, the cool air sharp on his damp cheeks as he moved. Each movement sapped at energy he didn’t have. His hands gripped the edge of the table. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, but as he looked down on his father, it slowed to squeezing thuds.

“Can we continue this another time?” Kurt asked, quietly. Gently. “I’m done. For now.”

“Of course,” Burt said, rubbing a hand over the top of his head. “I’ve asked Carole and Finn to give us some space on Sunday afternoons. I would really like it if we could spend some regular time just us. Maybe we could go through some old photo albums? Whatever you want.”

Kurt skimmed his fingertip along the edge of the table. “I don’t know, dad,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

“We’ve got home videos as well,” Burt said. “I have a whole stack of them upstairs. It might be nice to go through them.”

Kurt’s breath caught. “You’ve got-? I didn’t know.”

“Oh,” Burt said, eyebrows raised in surprise, his eyes brightening. “Yeah, some from before you were born as well.”

Kurt swallowed. “I don’t know if I could stand it,” Kurt whispered.

“I haven’t been able to watch them either,” Burt said. “We could do it together?”

Kurt folded his hands together, staring down at them.

“I’ll bring them down anyway. You can watch them whenever you want.”

Kurt gave a short nod and chewed the inside of his cheek. He gestured vaguely to the door and slipped silently across the kitchen.

“Kurt?”

Kurt stopped, one hand on the doorframe.

“This thing with Blaine? Just ask him flat out what’s wrong. He won’t be keeping you out of whatever the problem is out of spite, I promise.”

Kurt turned to look back at Burt over his raised arm.

Burt looked at him with a ghost of a smile. “That kid thinks the world of you. Just ask him.”

Kurt flicked one corner of his lips out, running his eyes over the depressed contours of his father’s face for just a moment before he let his hand slide down the doorframe and back to his side, and stepped forward into the hall.

 

*

 

Kurt closed his bedroom door softly behind him. His skin prickled and he pushed a trembling hand back through his hair before sinking down on the edge of his bed. The silence trickled over him. He felt raw, his throat rough, his heart gaping, exposed and aching.

He sat.

He became aware, slowly, of a soft lump beneath his thigh on the bed. He reached down and tugged it out. He had sat half on Baa. Kurt blinked down at the sheep, resting it in his lap and running his thumb over the inscription on its heart.

He scrambled to his feet, blood starting to pump adrenaline into him, and rushed down the stairs, shouting out over his shoulder to his dad. This couldn’t wait any longer.

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

Kurt propped his bike against the side of the garage and half-jogged up to the rest of the house. His chest heaved as he pressed the doorbell.

No-one came.

Kurt pressed it again, holding it down, and then impatiently began to pump it up and down.

There was a sound on the other side of the door, the bolt slid across, and then there was a small, smartly dressed woman he hadn’t seen before in front of him. She raised her eyebrows at him, not so subtly raising her arm to block the open space in the door.

“Uh,” Kurt cleared his throat. “Mrs Anderson?”

“Yes,” she said. “And you are?”

Kurt swallowed. “I’m Kurt. A-, a friend of Blaine’s. I just wanted to see him.”

“You’re Kurt?” she asked, eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

“Well yeah-“

“Blaine’s Kurt?”

“Yeah.”

“The Kurt he bought show tickets for?”

“The very same,” he said, a sardonic smile pulling at his lips.

She blinked once, twice, and then her expression transformed. Her eyes lit up, crinkling at the corners in exactly the same way as Blaine’s as she beamed at him. Kurt bit back a nervous smile.

“May I see him?”

She jumped, and let her arms fall away from the door and beckoned him in. “Come in, come in, oh, honey, it’s freezing out there. Oh! I’m Anna Maria, by the way, not ‘Mrs Anderson’. I tell you what, I’ll make you a lovely cup of tea and get you all warmed up.”

Kurt followed her into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “That really won’t be necess-.”

“Nonsense,” she said. She ran her eyes up and down him again, this time without the judgment clear in her eye. Instead, motherly concern troubled her warm brown eyes. “You could do with a bit more meat on your bones, too. Especially if you’re not going to wear appropriate clothing in the depths of winter.”

A nervous smile flickered over Kurt’s face and he dropped his gaze to the floor. He pulled off his boots, waiting for her to leave.

“Come on,” she said, patting his arm. “Let’s make some salabat and you can take it up to Blaine. He always complains about it but I know he finds it very soothing. And it’s good for his throat when he’s performing. Something I’m sure you could use, too, going by this-,” she gestured at the air around Kurt, “-haze of smoke that follows you around.”

He walked slowly behind her as she went through the house to the kitchen at the back, which was half cosy sitting room, all squishy armchairs and overflowing bookshelves, and half designer countertops and appliances.

“You have a stunning home,” Kurt said without thinking, from where he was stood just inside the door, his eyes roving around the space.  

She turned from where she was digging around in the fridge, and sent him a soft smile. “Thank you. I just wish I could spend more time here.” Her smile twisted down, becoming wistful and sad, and she turned back the fridge. Kurt shuffled his feet, hovering in the same spot until she emerged from behind the fridge door clutching a root of ginger.

“Have you had salabat before?”

Kurt shook his head.

“It’s kind of a ginger tea, but there aren’t any tea leaves in it. It’s magical. You’ll love it.” She set about slicing the ginger and gestured at the breakfast bar. “Sit down, honey, stop floating.”

Kurt bit his lip and slid into a chair, unsure what to do with his hands. He eventually settled with them folded together on the counter in front of him. She glanced at him a couple of times while she flitted about the kitchen, but Kurt couldn’t read her expression and she didn’t speak again for a few minutes.

Kurt drank in the quiet. He felt barely tethered together, the conversation with his father left him open and vulnerable, like one more soft glance from Blaine’s mother would make him fall apart altogether.

He watched, transfixed, as she went around the kitchen with quiet precision, her movements smooth and reassuring. She was a tiny slip of a woman but she commanded attention in a subtle way that Kurt admired. She didn’t try to make any lighthearted conversation, just kept stirring the simmering contents of the pan around in slow circles. The kitchen filled with the scent of boiling ginger, peppery with a slight hint of citrus. Kurt breathed it deeply in. It hit the back of his throat and he blinked, sitting taller in his chair as it filled his lungs and cleared his head.

He caught her looking at him with a slightly smug smile. “Like I said. Magical.”

Kurt slowly returned the smile, his chest loosening as warmth cascaded into it.

“How did you know I needed it?”

She tipped her head to one side. “Call it a mother’s intuition.”

Kurt ducked his head, the pit of his stomach dropping in that all too familiar way. He took a deep breath, his abdomen quivering as he released it. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment curled around Kurt’s heart, spurring him to continue. “Do you think it’s possible to truly romantically love more than one person at the same time?”

She paused in her stirring. “Is this about you or-?”

“No! Oh my God no, um, fu-, no. Blaine’s my-.” She raised her eyebrows in amusement at him. He cleared his throat, his face burning. “I don’t know what Blaine’s told you-?”

“From what I gather, he’s desperately in love with a certain boy named Kurt.” She smirked at him. “And going by the dreamy look on your face when I just said that, the feeling’s mutual.”

“R-Right,” Kurt stuttered. “Well. So, there’s that. So, no, I wasn’t asking about me.” He paused, gathering himself. “I just, I don’t understand how… love works. I thought I did, but I guess not.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate for me to help,” she said gently.

“Right,” he said, scrubbing across his forehead. “So, let’s say that a man and woman fall in love, and everything is perfect, and they love each other to the ends of the earth, and then they have a child and everything is still going okay. And then the woman one day, just, dies, no warning. How could that man ever truly love anyone else?”

Anna Maria let out a deep breath and moved to the side of the counter, leaning forward onto it with her elbows. “Just the easy questions for a relaxed Sunday evening then, huh? Okay, firstly I don’t know if you know this, but Blaine’s father and I are separated, so I’m not exactly an expert on loving someone who can love me forever at the moment. But I’ll do my best.”

“I didn’t know you were separated,” Kurt said, almost to himself, heart sinking lower. Another thing Blaine had omitted.

“Since last summer, so it’s still quite new,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s a right answer here. Everyone’s different. It all boils down to wanting the person you love to be happy, doesn’t it? As cliched as it is, it’s true. And I suppose exactly what ‘happy’ looks like is different for each person from that point on.”

Kurt nodded a little helplessly. “I just don’t get it. It’s such a slight on her memory.”

“Your mom’s?” Anna Maria prompted gently.

Kurt nodded again, mind ticking over and over, thoughts falling over each other as he tried to make sense of them. “Do you believe in heaven?” he blurted.

“Uh-“

“Because if by some bizarre rift in the universe there is a heaven, like, who would my dad choose to be with in heaven? Because it should be my mom, but if he loves Carole then it’d be her, too, and that just becomes a nightmare and in the end he would have to choose between them so that would mean that he loves one of them more than the other and not in this ‘different’ way he keeps talking about-“

“Kurt,” Anna Maria interrupted. “You’re over-thinking this.”

Kurt slumped back in his seat, exhaustion trickling like tar through his veins. “I just want to figure it out.”

“You don’t have to figure everything out straight away. You’ve got time, I promise.”

“No, but I don’t!” Kurt said. “I’m leaving for New York in a few months.” He regarded Anna Maria for a moment and she held his gaze, giving him her whole attention. “My mom died four years ago and my dad fell apart. We fell apart. He gave up for a long time. On work, on friends, on me. I was thirteen. So I just… shut him out. He says he tried to get through to me after a while, and maybe that’s true but... It was easier to just keep him away. But now suddenly he’s saying he’s sorry and is pushing all the time and… it’s not easy anymore.”

Kurt breathed in deeply and pressed his lips together. “Sorry for the ramble.”

“You don’t have to apologise, sweetheart,” Anna Maria said, reaching forward to squeeze his forearm. “It sounds to me like you’ve got a decision to make. You can leave, but don’t think you can leave without looking back. Will that be with regret? It might not be at first, but once the anger and grief starts to settle, what will be left?” She patted his arm, her hands surprisingly strong. “Sometimes we’ve got to figure out a way to forgive the people we love, otherwise we wouldn’t have anyone.”

“Right, but you’re not going to figure out how to love Blaine’s dad, are you? And you must have loved him at some point. You’re leaving him and you’ll be better for it. From what I can gather from Blaine.”

Anna Maria sighed, taking back her hand.“That’s what I’m saying. You have to weigh up what you’ll be giving up by not forgiving him, what you’ll lose if you do. If you should forgive him. Do you think you life would be better without your dad in it? Truly?”

Kurt closed his eyes, slowly, and dragged them open again. He didn’t try to reply.

“I don’t know much about your whole situation, but let me just say this: your dad is a person. People make mistakes. Parents make mistakes. God knows I have. Big ones. You have to decide if he really does mean it when he says he’s sorry. What it would do to you to not forgive him.”

Kurt pressed his thumb into the palm of his hand, murmuring to his lap, “I don’t trust him. I don’t believe he really wants this.”

“Broken trust doesn’t magically re-appear overnight, you’ll both have to work at it,” she said gently. “It’ll take time, but if you both want it then you can have it.”

Kurt stared down at his hands. She sent him one more smile and went back over to the pan to finish making the tea. He focused on her actions again, filling his lungs again and again with the warmth and comfort of the tea. He found himself surprisingly calm. The simplicity of her answer; forgive or don’t forgive, was a comfort.

“Here,” she said, nudging a tray with steaming mugs of delicious smelling tea towards him. “Take this up to Blaine. Try and clear that head of yours.”

Kurt gave a weak smile and rolled himself out of the chair, collecting the tray from the counter.

“Is Blaine okay at his new school?” Anna Maria asked suddenly, when he was almost out of the room. “He won’t talk about it.”

Kurt met her worried gaze, pressing his lips together. “That’s why I’m here.”

She gave a short nod, and Kurt left the room, trying to gather up the last few remaining pieces of his determination. He padded up to Blaine’s room through the quiet house, only able to hear the distant sounds of Blaine’s mother still pottering around the kitchen.

Blaine’s door was ajar. Kurt knocked on it, pushing it gently open.

Blaine was lying on the bed facing away from the door, curled up in sweats and hair ungelled. “Mom, I’ve told you I don’t want any more tea,” he said over his shoulder.

“Um. Hey,” Kurt said. “Not mom. Kurt. But I do have tea.”

Blaine rolled over to face Kurt and sat up, rubbing at his sore-looking eyes. “Wha-? Kurt? What are you doing here?”

Kurt walked over to the nightstand and lowered the tray onto it. He turned to face Blaine and wrung his hands together, running the tip of his forefinger over his opposite knuckle. “I want to talk to you.”

Blaine’s eyebrows drew together and his shoulders fell in towards himself. “Is something wrong?”

Kurt bit his lip, walking slowly back across the room to close the door, taking his time to look back to Blaine. “Not with me. Well, my usual crap. There’s just something I want to say, okay?”

Blaine nodded, folding his legs to sit cross-legged on the blanket. Kurt opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, turned on his heel and began pacing up and down.

He could feel Blaine’s eyes on him.

“Kurt?”

Kurt span to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Come and sit.”

“Right. Yes.” Kurt ran a hand through his hair and went over to Blaine’s bed, shuffling across on his knees until he was opposite Blaine. He mirrored Blaine’s position and Blaine immediately took his hands, twining them together and resting them on their knees. Kurt let out a breath.

“Kurt please say something, you’re worrying me.”

Kurt smiled ruefully. “That’s just it. You’re worrying me. It’s just-. I’ve noticed, okay? How can I not notice? You’re trying to hide it, because that’s just who you are, but I’ve noticed. You’ve withdrawn.”

Blaine didn’t say anything, just stared down at their joined hands.

“I don’t want you to be alone with this,” Kurt continued. “I don’t want you to retreat into yourself. I don’t want you to become angry and lash out and not let anybody in. I don’t want that for you. I just want you to know that I’m here.”

Blaine had tensed up, his face poised. But he never could hide anything in those eyes of his.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Blaine said.

Kurt squeezed his hands, pulling them together in the shallow valley of their crossed ankles. “Please talk to me about this,” he pleaded.

Blaine shook his head, trying to take back his hands. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Kurt gripped onto him. “Yes there is. Who is it? Is it Finn?”

“Finn? No. Look, Kurt, this isn’t anything. It’s fine.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, voice dropping, becoming rough and raw. “This is me. I love you. I understand what you’re going through. Please talk to me.”

Blaine swallowed, eyes fixed on their hands.

Kurt untangled one of his hands, making sure he still covered both of Blaine’s before reaching up and gently tipping up Blaine’s chin. Blaine met his gaze, eyes wide and shining.

Kurt gritted his teeth and forced the words out. “You’re being bullied,” he said.

Blaine flinched. “Nobody’s really touched me,” Blaine said. “It’s not like last time. It’s nothing like with you. I’m fine.”

“Blaine,” Kurt murmured. “You know as well as I do that no-one has to lay a finger on you to tear you apart inside.”

Blaine tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in his throat and he ducked his head again, fingers clenching around Kurt’s. Kurt felt Blaine begin to tremble and he couldn’t bear it any more. He unwound his hand and wrapped his arms around Blaine. Blaine tried to hold himself up for a moment longer and then slumped forwards into Kurt’s embrace, winding his own arms around Kurt and digging his fingers into Kurt’s back.

Kurt held him tightly as the soft trembling grew into shakes, shakes escalating to wracking sobs. Kurt pulled him sideways into his lap, heart aching, and gently rocked him back and forth, murmuring nonsensical platitudes into his hair. He rubbed his fingers in a smooth rhythm into the hair at the nape of Blaine’s neck and he hummed quietly under his breath.

Blaine gradually quietened to shaky, hitching breaths, muscles trembling and eyes squeezed shut. Tears trickled down to gather on the small wet patch in the front of Kurt’s shirt. After a few more sniffles, Blaine pulled away from Kurt, scooting back in his lap so that he could look him in the eye.

“Sorry,” he said, voice gravelly.

“Don’t be,” Kurt said simply. “How long have you been holding that in?”

Blaine wiped his hand over his face and shrugged.

Kurt watched him for a second and then reached back, picked up a now luke-warm mug from the nightstand and handed it to Blaine. Blaine wrapped his fingers around it. Kurt took his own mug, breathed in the soothing scent and took a sip. He settled back against the headboard and waited, Blaine warm next to his legs.

“It isn’t Finn,” Blaine said eventually, glancing up at Kurt. “He actually offered to help me the other day.”

Kurt tried not to let his surprise show. “So who is it?”

Blaine stared down into his mug. “That’s the thing. It’s no-one. And it’s everyone.”

Kurt screwed up his eyes in confusion. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Blaine sighed, tightening his fingers around the mug. Kurt placed a gentle hand on Blaine’s knee. “Honey, you’re going to have to explain this to me.”

Blaine hunched over his mug. “I thought you would understand,” he said, voice quiet and broken.

Kurt’s heart broke along with it. “Oh, Blaine,” he breathed. “I understand what being bullied is like, I understand what it’s like to be singled out and targeted and harassed, verbally and physically. But no experience is universal. I want you to tell me what you’re going through.”

Blaine’s mouth crumpled down, another tear falling from the corner of his eye. “There are these constant rumours going around the school. About me. Sometimes about us and what we… do, but usually about me. They all look at me with such deep disgust and repulsion in their eyes, I just-. Nobody will go near me. They put post-its through the slots on my locker, some of the things they write are just-.” He shook his head. “I’ve started skipping P.E., I just can’t deal with any of it. I just-, I don’t know how to make them stop.”

Kurt’s heart sank, wishing for the first time in a long while that he was more in the loop at school. Maybe he could have stopped this sooner. He gripped at Blaine’s knee.

“What kinds of things are they saying about you?”

“It started out as just stuff about the way I dress, um, things like that. The way I eat, stupid things. And then it just gradually built into other stuff. Sex stuff. About what I might… like. And what that says about me. And then that kind of escalated and now…” He broke off.

Kurt’s stomach churned, an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He forced himself to keep going. “And what about the Glee Club? Where are they in all of this?”

Blaine shrugged again a little hopelessly. “They’re okay. None of them get it. I think they think it’s just a bit of name-calling, just a bit of gossip circulating the school. A couple of them try to be understanding, but it just feels so patronising, but then I just think… that’s exactly what it is, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“I guess I hoped that the bullying at my first high school would be it, you know?” Blaine continued, ignoring Kurt’s interjection. “That that was my struggle, you know, the struggle, and now I could get on and live my life.” Blaine ducked his head, his voice hollow. “I suppose some people should just expect to be treated like that their whole lives. I should be used to it.”

“No,” Kurt said again. Blaine looked up, startled at the vehemence in Kurt’s tone. “No you should not be used to it. You don’t deserve it, any of it. They’re all the fucking scum of the earth if they’re making you believe that.”

“But-“

“No, Blaine,” Kurt pressed, leaning forward and forcing Blaine to look at him. “This is not your fault. This is not something you should be expected to put up with. It’s complete bullshit.”

Blaine’s adam’s apple bobbed.

“Do you have any idea who’s starting the rumours?”

“I think it’s probably some of the football team, they make a particular effort to make sure I know my place.”

“And your place is so far above them they can barely see you.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said thickly.

“It’s true. Trust me, I’m extremely well-versed on the topic of ‘Blaine’ so I know without one half of a teeny-tiny doubt that you’re not the problem. They’re the problem. You, my kind, beautiful boyfriend, are worth a hundred of them. I love you so, so much. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you the past few months.”

Blaine gave a wobbly smile.

“We’ll figure this out,” Kurt said. “Together.”

Blaine hesitated, and then finally, finally, the uneasy haze in his eyes cleared and he nodded.

Kurt returned the smile, the weight in his chest lifting just a fraction, and dragged Blaine in for another bone-crushing hug. Something hard and cold dug into Kurt’s back and Kurt’s smile widened. He carefully extricated the empty mug from Blaine’s fingers and placed it back on the nightstand.

He slid them down on the bed until they were lying down and tugged the blankets over them. Blaine shifted down a little further and closer to Kurt, tangling their legs together and resting his head on Kurt’s chest, his long eyelashes already drooping. Kurt wrapped an arm around Blaine’s side, kissing the top of this head and taking a moment to breath in the peaceful quiet. Blaine’s breathing slowed, and Kurt allowed the relief and exhaustion to wash over himself as well, a small smile still pulling at his lips.

 

*

 

Kurt woke up a few hours later to a gentle squeeze on his arm. He squinted, fluttering his eyelids open and nudging his nose into the back of Blaine’s neck. He mumbled unintelligibly under his breath, perfectly content, Blaine curled up in front of him, and allowed himself to drift off again.

“Kurt?” the quiet voice of Blaine’s mom, accompanied by another gentle press to the arm slung over Blaine’s side. Kurt blinked his eyes open properly this time and peered up.

“Wha-?” he croaked.

“I’m sorry I have to wake you,” Anna Maria whispered. “But you guys have got school tomorrow and I think you should probably head home.”

Kurt scrubbed roughly over his eyes and gently extricated himself from where he was tucked around Blaine, scooting to the opposite edge of the bed. He glanced back over his shoulder. Anna Maria was crouched down by the bed, fingers stroking down the cheek of her son, that same sad and wistful smile playing around her lips.

Kurt’s chest shifted and he exhaled slowly, lightness expanding within him, even though there was still that niggling ache low in his stomach. Maybe that would never go away. He got to his feet and with one last look at a now starting to stir Blaine, tiptoed out of the room. Blaine’s mom followed him down the stairs, waiting, apparently lost in thought, while he pulled on his boots.

“I’m glad he has you,” Kurt said. He straightened up, looked her dead in the eye. “But don’t let him drift away.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an extra warning for _**sexual harassment**_ and **_homophobia_** in this chapter.

The front door closed downstairs behind Kurt. Blaine rubbed at his eyes and pushed himself up to sit against his pillows, the blanket pooling in his lap. He wound the fleece through his fingers, listening as his mother’s soft footsteps came back up the stairs, already missing the warmth of Kurt next to him.

His mother appeared in the doorway but Blaine didn’t look up. He stared down at his hands, running his thumb over the fabric again and again. She let out a quiet sigh and walked across the room to perch on the edge of his bed. She placed her hands on his and gave them a tight squeeze.

“I think it’s time you and I have a long-overdue conversation, nonoy,” she said, reaching forward to brush back the curls falling into his eyes. Blaine nodded silently.

“Let’s go down to the snug, hm?” she said, patting his leg and getting to her feet. She waited for his nod, which he gave along with a small roll of his eyes, and left the room.

Blaine pulled on a hoodie - one of Kurt’s  - and traipsed downstairs to the back of the house where his mother was already curled up in her favourite armchair. Blaine sat on the couch, folding his legs under himself and pressing his toes into the soft throw cover. He waited as she gathered her words, coiling himself in to make himself as small as possible.

But then she began to speak, and once she had started the words didn’t stop flowing. She talked about the separation, about how she needed to prove to his father that she could support herself and Blaine on her own, and that was why she had spent so much time at work the past few months. And, she explained with regret clear in her eyes, that maybe she had got a little too into the financial support she had neglected the more important emotional support.

Blaine listened, riveted, as she talked about how the final straw between her and Nate had been the fact that he had pulled Blaine out of Dalton without even consulting her. A flood of guilt washed into Blaine, but Anna Maria quickly reassured him it wasn’t Blaine’s fault - it was his father’s fault, and probably her fault too for not speaking up to defend Blaine and herself earlier.

And that if Blaine wanted, she said carefully, she had saved enough to send him back to Dalton for his senior year. Blaine looked up sharply at that.

“Why do you say that?”

She cocked her head to one side and tipped a corner of her mouth up. “Honey, it’s clear you’re not happy there. I’m just giving you the option, okay? You can go back to your old friends if you want.”

Blaine nodded slowly.

“Is it like at Lima High?” she asked. “If it is I need to know, Blaine. I will be down at that school so damn fast-”

“No, mom, it’s not,” Blaine jumped in, placating. “It’s not that physical.”

“That’s little comfort, Blaine.”

Blaine sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back into the sofa. He repeated to her what he had been through with Kurt earlier. She listened attentively, anger growing in her eyes.

“I’m coming in with you tomorrow, nonoy,” she said fiercely. “I’ll show the school that it will not get away with this.”

“No, mom. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no way of pinpointing any single student, or even a group. If you say anything it will just make it worse. Please, mama, promise me you won’t go,” he pleaded.

She pursed her lips and heaved a deep sigh. “I’ll hold off for now. But promise me you’ll come to me if anything different happens? Or anything that can be traced back to any one of these spineless kids.”

Blaine gave a huff of a smile down at his lap. “I promise.”

“Now come over here and give your old mama a hug,” she said.

Blaine’s smile widened and he got up from the couch, perched on the arm of her chair, and reached to wrap his arms around her neck, just as he had done when he was a child.

“I’ll try and be home more from now on, okay?” she said, cupping the back of his neck and holding him close.

“I’d like that,” Blaine mumbled, clutching just as tightly back.

 

*

 

Blaine leant against his car and looked up at the school. He couldn’t decide if it was more or less daunting to go in there knowing that people knew about everything he was going through. People being… Kurt. Blaine sighed.

He’d go in in five minutes.

A throat cleared next to him. Blaine whipped his head around, heart accelerating only to thud in relief as he saw Kurt standing tall in the gap between Blaine’s car and the next.

Kurt in his grey beanie and skinny jeans, suspenders hanging down, loose against the sides of his thighs, joined by chains and what seemed to be bits of multicoloured rope, adding a pop of colour to his outfit. His expression was gentle as he jerked his head towards the school.

“Let’s go.”

Blaine couldn’t help but give a twitch of the lips, chest filling with warmth as he pushed himself off the car and walked towards Kurt.

Kurt took a pace back, waiting for Blaine, and then fell into step beside him, a guiding hand hovering just for a moment on the small of Blaine’s back.

They walked side by side into the school. Kurt didn’t peel off in the direction of his locker like he usually did, but stayed by Blaine. Blaine sent him a questioning look but Kurt just smiled that heart-stopping peaceful smile, brushed the back of his hand against Blaine’s and kept walking.

When they arrived at Blaine’s locker, Kurt settled against the adjacent door, body turned fully towards Blaine with a tiny smirk playing around his lips. Blaine turned to his locker, trying to figure out which books he needed, but he kept on being drawn back to Kurt, heat rising in his cheeks.

“Stop,” Blaine murmured, flicking his gaze to meet Kurt’s eyes and then back to his books.

Kurt’s smirk widened. “I’m not doing anything.”

Blaine bit down on a smile, ducking his head. “You’re being very distracting.”

Kurt bent his neck down to look Blaine straight in the eye. “Good.”

Blaine’s smile escaped and he shook his head, heart swelling in his chest. “God, you’re so…”

“Disarmingly fabulous,” Kurt filled in with a teasing smile. He leant in, lowering his voice. “Suave and enigmatic.

Blaine just shook his head again. A locker slammed loudly close by. He flinched, the noise of the busy corridor filling his ears once more. He hastily shoved his books into his back and took a step back, scanning the hallway warily.

“Hey,” Kurt said, touching the tips of his fingers to Blaine’s arm. Blaine forced his attention back to Kurt. “Come over to my place later?”

“Um, okay,” Blaine said. “But mom’s coming back for dinner so I can’t be late.”

Kurt smiled in relief. “She is? That’s great.”

Blaine gave a small shrug. “We talked last night. Started to work some things out.”

“That’s so good, Blaine,” Kurt said. “She seemed really nice.”

“She is,” Blaine said warmly, beginning to look more comfortable again. “I should get to class. I’ll meet you by my car after Glee?”

Kurt leant in close, so close that Blaine thought for a wild moment he was going to kiss him until a devious smile glittered on Kurt’s face and he replied, “Maybe a bit earlier than that if you’re lucky.” Kurt winked at him, swung on his heel and swept away along the hall towards his classroom.

 

*

 

Blaine headed to his normal seat at the back of the choir room for Glee. Everyone else was chatting amongst themselves and paid him no heed as he wound through the chairs, propped his bag against the legs of his seat and settled down.

He heard a laugh and glanced to the side. Mike was teaching Sam dance moves, demonstrating a body roll slowly and then watching Sam’s attempts to mimic him. Blaine swallowed and sat up a little straighter in his chair. The thought of I could have had that niggled at the back of his mind. Instead, he had just let himself drift away.

He forced his eyes away, looking over the heads of Rachel and Finn, who were whispering fiercely to each other, to the front of the room, where the whiteboard was wiped clean in preparation for their new theme of the week. Blaine couldn’t bring himself to care about what it was - it would invariably end with a group number on Friday, Rachel and Finn on lead, Blaine bopping half-heartedly in the back.

Mr Schuester swept into the room, already gesturing them to be quiet as he took up his usual spot in front of them.

“Alright, guys!” he said. “New week, new theme, you know the drill! Now I know this is something that you guys have been asking for, but I’ve decided that we finally-”

Another figure appeared in the doorway. Everyone turned to look in unison, Mr Schuester trailing off as he followed their gaze and looked over his shoulder. Blaine’s lips parted in surprise, heart thudding in his chest.

Kurt stood in the door, head held high. He paused there, watching everyone watching him, then strode into the room, breezing past Mr Schuester and up to the back row, where he plunked himself next to Blaine.

There was a stunned silence. Blaine just blinked at him in shock.

Kurt looked around at each of them, eyebrows raised, only the slight curl of his fingers around his waist betraying his unease to Blaine, then gave a flick of a wrist. “Carry on.”

Mr Schuester cleared his throat. “Kurt-, it is Kurt, right?” Kurt rolled his eyes and gave a short nod. “Would you like to join the Glee Club?”

“Eh,” Kurt shrugged. “Sure.”

“Great! Would you like to do a quick audition for us?”

“Nope.”

“It doesn’t matter what kind of a level you’re at, it would just be nice to get an idea of your voice and where you would fit in.”

“No, I’m good.”

Rachel piped up from the front row. “I know you must have heard us around the school and it’s okay to feel threatened by my vocal abilities in particular, but we always need more people to fill out the group.”

“I’m not threatened,” Kurt said, leaning back in his chair and spreading his arms wide against the wall. “I just don’t need to prove anything. I know I could easily blow you away if I wanted.”

Mercedes caught his eye from the other end of the row below, an amused smile pulling at her lips. He tipped his head at her, eyebrows knitting together in mystification. She winked at him and turned back to Rachel. Kurt blinked and did the same.

“If you’re too scared to audition I don’t see how you could think you would be able to out-sing me,” Rachel retorted, folding her arms.

“I’m not scared of auditioning or you,” Kurt said, sending her a serene smile. He looked perfectly unperturbed, but Blaine could see the tension held in the corner of his lips. “That sweater, however, is terrifying.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Rachel huffed.

Mr Schuester piped up before Rachel could reply. “If you’re not interested in singing, Kurt, then can I ask why you’re here?”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Blaine murmured. Kurt glanced at him, his expression softening as he ran his eyes over Blaine’s questioning face. His lip curled up into a lopsided smile.

“You know why,” Kurt said, so softly that only Blaine could hear.

“I do?” Blaine said, doubt clear in his tone.

“What’s that?” Mr Schuester asked at the same time. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Mr Schuester,” Quinn said from where she was tucked under Puck’s arm. “Since when do we question people’s motives? We need more members; there’s one here. Let’s just go with it.”

Blaine saw Kurt catch her eye and send her a grateful smile She nodded at him and turned back to the front. Mr Schuester started his spiel again, but Blaine didn’t listen. Kurt continued to smile down at his lap. Warmth spread throughout Blaine’s chest and he reached over to grasp Kurt’s hands in his.

“Does this mean we get to duet now?” he said, leaning over with a hopeful smile.

Kurt fixed him with a level glare, unable to completely quash his smile. “Don’t push your luck.”

 

*

 

Blaine went back to Kurt’s after practise, their hands joining automatically as they closed the front door behind them. Burt called a greeting to them from the sitting room, which Kurt replied to with a quick, “We’re going up to my room,” and tugged Blaine up the stairs.

Kurt shut his bedroom door behind him and pulled Blaine over to the bed, but Blaine resisted, swinging Kurt around to face him. Kurt raised an eyebrow in question but Blaine just reached for his other hand.

“Why did you join Glee?”

Kurt bit down on his bottom lip. “It’s not obvious?”

“Um, no,” Blaine said, “Not to me.”

Kurt smiled down at Blaine. “I joined for you. I want to be with you as much as I can before I leave. And I’m there maybe a tiny bit for me, too. I miss music, I miss being around music.” He swung their hands out to the side. “Also I need to be there to beat the Glee Club over the head with your talent because they totally take you for granted.”

Blaine’s face split into a thrilled smile and he squeezed Kurt’s hands. “I loved having you there.”

Kurt dipped his head to rest his forehead against Blaine’s. “I missed you.”

Blaine frowned. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

Kurt pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “You did, but you’re here now and that’s all I care about.”

Blaine pushed aside the small niggle of confused irritation at that, squeezing their hands again and releasing them to slide his arms around Kurt’s waist and bring him into a tight hug. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck and leant their heads together.

The perfect stillness of the moment was broken by the crash of the front door against the wall downstairs. Kurt heard Burt greet Finn and the cheerful response, followed by stomping footsteps up the stairs. Kurt slid his eyes shut in frustration. “Fucking Finn, I swear to God-“

“Hey,” Blaine said, rubbing Kurt’s back. “It’s fine. He’s just going to go into his room and-”

There was a knock on Kurt’s door.

Kurt let his head drop to Blaine’s shoulder. “For God’s sake.” He rose his voice. “Fuck off!”

“Dude,” came Finn’s voice. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Come on, man,” Finn wheedled.

Kurt ground his teeth to the side and strode the short distance across the room to fling open the door. “What?”

Finn was startled for a second and quickly regathered himself. “Hey! Oh, hey Blaine.”

Blaine nodded politely at him in greeting.

“Dude, why didn’t you say you were joining Glee?”

“Oh, I didn’t?” Kurt said, with a fake smile. “I was so sure I mentioned it when we gave each other pedicures the other day.”

“What?” Finn asked, baffled. Blaine hid a small smile and stepped up to stand next to Kurt.

“Why would I tell you that I was going to join Glee?” Kurt said, throwing his arms in the air. “When have we ever talked? About anything? I literally do not understand what goes through your mind.”

“I thought we’d had a breakthrough the other day?”

“No, we didn’t,” Kurt yelped. “There was no ‘breakthrough’. There is nothing to break through.”

“No?”

“No,” Kurt repeated, louder.

“But-”

“No,” Kurt said, holding out his hand. “Stop. We’re never going to be anything to each other. We are not ever going to talk to each other about shit like that. I have no interest in becoming… anything with the instigator of the second worst thing to ever happen to me.”

Blaine bit his lip and rested his hand on the small of Kurt’s back, rubbing gently. Kurt was vibrating with tension and didn’t show any sign of recognising Blaine’s touch.

“I have tried like, seventy million times to apologise for that,” Finn said, growing indignant. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to move forward if you won’t listen to me.”

“I don’t want to listen to you! I don’t want to move forward!” Kurt said, voice rising. “Why is that so hard for your tiny little brain to understand?”

“Hey! Look, just let me explain about the locker room, okay? I hid your clothes but I didn’t know that those guys were going to-”

“What?” the gruff voice of Burt came from down the landing. They all turned to him in unison.

Kurt took a step towards Finn, eyes blazing. “You shut the fuck up right now.”

“Kurt?” Burt asked warily.

Kurt shook his head roughly and choked out, “No.”

“I heard raised voices from downstairs,” Burt continued slowly, looking between them all, “And wanted to see what was going on.” He stared at Finn for a moment, as if sizing him up, and then turned his gaze to rest on Kurt. “Do you think we could talk, just us, for a bit?”

Finn raised his arms in defeat and went into his room, slamming the door behind him. Burt turned to Blaine expectantly.

Blaine swallowed thickly, and returned his hand to Kurt’s back. “Kurt? Do you want me to go?”

Kurt kept his eyes firmly on his dad. Silence fell over the landing as father and son stared at each other. Blaine shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling utterly out of his depth. “Kurt?”

“No I don’t want you to go,” Kurt said eventually around a breath. “But you should. I’ll call you later?”

Blaine nodded, slipped his hand to briefly entwine with Kurt’s, squeezing gently just before he let go. He glanced once more at Burt and set off down the stairs.

 

*

 

Kurt turned and walked back to his bed, leaving the door open behind him. His heart was pounding fiercely in his chest, his throat tight. He rubbed his hand over his forehead and dropped on the covers, muscles weak as he brought his knees up to his chin.

Burt followed, settling on the chair next to Kurt’s desk. Kurt was still breathing heavily after so very nearly losing it with Finn. Part of him still itched to go down to Finn’s room and tell him just exactly how fucked up what he wanted was, but then he glanced up, to see Burt eyeing him with anxiety etched into the deep trough of his furrowed brow.

“Kurt-”

“I’ll tell you,” Kurt said dully. “Finn’s going to end up telling you anyway. Fucker.”

Burt paused, then said quietly, “I would really like to understand what happened between you two.”

“I’m just-.” Kurt sighed, his chest feeling even heavier. “You were supposed to take my word. You’re not supposed to need the story.”

Burt gave a long, low sigh. “I’m sorry, kiddo,” he said, his voice in a decrescendo, the ‘kiddo’ no more than a defeated exhalation curled loosely on the tip of his tongue.

Kurt swallowed down the painful lump lodged in his throat. “I need you to not interrupt me. I don’t think I can do it if you don’t let me get it out all at once.”

Burt nodded in acquiescence.

Kurt took a deep breath and leant back against the headboard. He closed his eyes, and allowed the images he had for so long buried as deep as he could push them swim to the surface.

-

_Kurt hurried from the showers to his locker, keeping his head down and towel held tightly around him. His damp hair fell forward, shielding his eyes. The rest of his gym class strutted around him in various states of undress, steam billowing from the showers and raucous laughter echoing around the locker room._

_Kurt’s locker was ajar when he reached it. His stomach dropped. He nudged it open with a shaking hand. His clothes, previously folded carefully and stacked at the bottom of his locker, were gone. His hair and skin products had been opened and then flung back on their sides, forming a congealed mess of mousses and creams._

_Heat prickled behind his eyes and his breathing quickened. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think, but panic was bubbling up through his veins and he couldn’t think, couldn’t figure out what to do._

_He turned slowly on the spot. No-one was paying him any attention. He scanned the room desperately, looking for any signs of his clothes. Nothing._

_He caught the eye of Finn, who was across the room pulling on his t-shirt._

_“Dude, stop staring at me like that,” Finn said, with an uncomfortable sneer._

_Heat rushed to Kurt’s cheeks and familiar shame pooled low in his stomach. He dropped his eyes to the floor, aware all the other guys in room had suddenly honed their attention on him._

_Kurt’s heart thudded in his chest and he forced himself to tip up his chin and level Finn with a derisory stare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”_

_He knew while he was still speaking that it was a mistake. A predatory glint flared into life in the eyes of one of the guys to Kurt’s right and he took a step towards Kurt. Kurt moved back, hitting his back on the metal lockers._

_A huge guy on Kurt’s other side spoke up. “Yeah, what you looking at, fag?”_

_“N- Nothing,” Kurt said, voice high._

_“You creeping on Hudson?”_

_“No, no,” Kurt said. “I just want my clothes back.”_

_Finn stood still, eyes wide and staring._

_“You were,” other guy crowed. “Bet you’re gonna go home and jack off to thoughts of Hudson now, aren’t you? Have your filthy little fantasies about taking dick.”_

_Kurt’s throat didn’t seem to be working, his breathing coming in sharp inhales and shaky exhales. He shook his head from side to side in short jerky motions, repeating under his quivering breath, “No,” over and over.  His hands were shaking where they still clung to his towel._

_“You hiding a stiffy for Hudson under there, fag?” The guy said. “Your perverted little brain can’t take being surrounded by shirtless guys?”_

_Kurt gulped down a breath, pressing himself back into the locker as hard as he could. His legs were weak and trembling beneath him. “No, I just want my clothes back,” he whispered._

_“Well, I just want to be able to be comfortable in my own locker room,” the guy retorted. “And not have some queer leering the whole time.”_

_“I wasn’t-, I’m not-,” he pleaded, still shaking his head desperately. The metal slats on the locker was digging into Kurt’s back, but he kept increasing the pressure, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. But they kept stepping forward until they formed a tight semi-circle around him._

_“Is this turning you on? Is this one of your little fantasies come true? I bet you do have a hard on, don’t you, perv?”_

_Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away to the side._ This wasn’t happening this wasn’t happening this wasn’t-

_A large hand groped at his hip and whipped away his towel. Kurt frantically tried to cover himself as guffaws of laughter exploded around the group._

_“No,” a voice said. “You’re still hiding.”_

_Hands pulled at his wrists and Kurt shrank back, trying to resist but he couldn’t. He was exposed to all of them. Under the boisterous laughter he could feel himself ebbing away, seeping into the cold metal of the locker he was leaning against. He sank down to the floor, swallowing a sob._

_“You know, I’m surprised he even has a dick,” one of them commented through a snigger. “I thought he might more than just look like a chick.”_

_Kurt felt a small whimper escape from between his lips. He curled in on himself, rocking in tiny motions back and forth, dropping his forehead to his knees, his face contorted in silent agony._

_“You and your kind are not welcome in here, comprende?” The guy right next to Kurt spoke loud and slow, leaning in so he was inches from Kurt’s face. “Don’t come back in here.”_

_Kurt was numb. His head began to shake from side to side again, all his muscles taut and shaking. He felt cold, wet flesh on the side of his arm, and suddenly he was on his side, pushed over by someone’s bare foot. He was quivering uncontrollably all over. He pressed his elbows into his sides._

_He tried to gasp out, tell them to stop, plead with them to move on and forget about him, tried to put all his energy into stopping the chattering of his teeth and not into letting his mind cascade into what was going to happen now, how far they could go, what they could do to him when he was lying here, completely vulnerable to their every whim._

_They were all jeering at him openly now, all trying to outdo each other, and Kurt caught ends of “_ Fag _,” and, “_ homo _,” and “_ sicko _,” and, “_ leave us alone _”. Tears fell from the corners of his eyes and he clutched desperately at his knees, his hands sliding until he locked his fingers together. But soon his fingers were prised open too and Kurt let out a whimper, bracing himself as best he could, pressing back and back and back into the locker and squeezing his eyes together._

_The air was knocked violently from his chest and a loud clang rang out through the room as he was rammed back into the lockers. He tried to take in a breath but an agonising pain shot up from his stomach. Blood seemed to rush straight to his head as he continued to try to breathe and he saw lights glimmer in front of his eyelids, his ears full of the sound of himself gasping for air, wheezing and rasping. He coughed, and it turned into a groan as the shooting pain in his chest flared up. His knees came back up to his chest as he curled around the pain, mouth open as he shuddered out gasping breaths into the floor._

_They continued to talk and joke over the top of Kurt, slight unease laced into a couple of their voices, but he tuned it out, retreating and retreating in his mind._

_The sound of their voices suddenly seemed to fade and before he knew what was happening they left the locker room in a blur of hand slaps and arm punches._

_Kurt’s muscles slowly gave out and he slipped sideways until he was lying on his side on the cold, wet floor. He was dimly aware of Finn, still standing in the same place he had been the whole time. He could feel his eyes on him, staring, staring at Kurt. Kurt squeezed himself into a tighter ball. All he could hear were his own shuddering breaths, his blood pounding in his ears, and a soft_ drip drip drip _coming from the showers._

_Finn eventually left, but not out of the door to the corridor. Instead he went back into the showers and emerged few moments later. A wet pile of material slapped to the ground next to Kurt. Finn’s feet hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, and Kurt waited, tense, for him to say something, but then he was gone, the door banging shut behind him. Kurt was finally alone._

_Kurt slowly reached out an unsteady hand and picked up the sodden sleeve of his button down, scrunching it in his fist as tightly as he could. Ice-cold water oozed out of it, dripping between his fingers and sliding down his wrists. He trailed the path of the stream of water with his finger, skimming down his forearm and hit the crease of his elbow, finally falling down onto the ground._

-

Kurt wrenched his eyes open, forcing his mind away from the cold floor.

Burt met his gaze, but his eyes were far-away and not fully focussed. He squeezed his eyes shut, an arm wrapped around his stomach as he swallowed. He looked nauseated. Disgusted.

Disgusted with Kurt.

Kurt pulled his knees up, folding himself around the heavy ache in his chest, desperately wondering how this could still hurt so much.

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Kurt finally splintered the silence that was smothering the room. “You asked for the story,” he said to his knees, wishing his voice was stronger than the hoarse whisper that came out of his mouth as he added, “You don’t get to judge me for it.”

Burt looked up sharply at him, startled out of his stupor. “Judge you?”

Kurt clutched his knees to his chest more tightly, digging his nails into the side seam of his jeans. “You’re disgusted.”

“Not at y-“

“I can see it in your face,” Kurt said, the pain in his chest pulling and twisting at his words as they left his mouth. “I did not ask for that, I didn’t look at Finn in any weird way, I didn’t. I know you’re not comfortable with the whole gay thing-”

“Whoa,” Burt said. “Hey, when did you get that impression? I like Blaine, he seems like a great kid.”

Kurt paused, slipping his eyelids shut. “Do you remember, um, a couple of years ago you walked in on me watching _Queer As Folk_?”

Burt rubbed at the side of his face. “I have no idea what that is.”

Kurt ground his teeth and sucked in a breath, drawing himself up and tugging on the leather cuff around his wrist. “You came into my room and there were two guys on my laptop screen fucking?”

“Ah,” Burt said, “Yeah. Vividly.”

“Right,” Kurt said. “And you freaked out and I came out to you and then you ran away looking completely grossed out.”

Burt ran his hand back over his head, still looking a bit sick. “That’s not… that’s not how I thought that went. I walk in on you watching this, this porn-” Kurt opened his mouth to argue but Burt silenced him. “I know you probably want to say it’s art or something, but that, kiddo, was porn.”

Kurt’s memory of that afternoon was him staring down at the DVD case in indecision. It was something he had felt he had to do, some form of right of passage or even just as an educative look at how gay men were supposed to be. But it hadn’t felt right. At all.

He had eventually mustered up the courage to slot the DVD into his laptop and place it at the end of the bed, curling up against the headboard to watch. Unease built quickly in his stomach as it played, and as much as he wanted to turn it off he couldn’t look away. It hadn’t taken long before he had felt physically sick, his mind swimming with new doubts, new confusion as to who he was. Who he was supposed to be. How he was supposed to act. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t him.

But just as Kurt was on the verge of slamming his laptop shut, angry tears prickling in his eyes, his father had interrupted.

His father brought him back to the present. “Of course I was surprised. And then you blurted out that you were gay, which of course I already knew-”

Kurt blanched. “What?”

“Kid, you’ve been swooning over Disney princes since your mother put you down in front of _Cinderella_ when you were four. And sure, your mom figured it out first, but I got there eventually.”

“She knew?” Kurt said quietly.

“Of course she knew,” Burt said. “She’s your mom.”

Kurt bit his lip, taking in this new information. He hadn’t really considered it before. He had thought about it in terms of Blaine; how he just knew that she would have loved Blaine, but the idea of her knowing that he was really actually gay felt weird and unsettling.

“Well, anyway,” he said, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “I came out to you and poof; in a flash of light and a swirl of smoke, you were gone.”

“I didn’t think that was ‘the announcement’, you know? I didn’t know there even needed to be an announcement. I think I must have been in shock from what I’d seen on your computer screen. And that week was full of shocks, if you remember? Pink hair and puncturing your ears and face dozens of times. I had no idea what was happening.”

“No, well, nothing new there,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes.

Burt let out a breath. “Okay, I deserved that.”

The corner of Kurt’s lip tipped up, just for a second, and he looked down at his knees again.

“Can we get back to the original story?” Burt asked.

Kurt nodded reluctantly.

“These guys-and they’re the ones I’m disgusted with, by the way, kiddo, not you-have they done similar things? Was that an ongoing thing?”

Kurt’s pursed his lips and nodded again.

“Finn?”

Kurt’s chest expanded and fell away before he answered. “He was never directly physical with me, but yes, he was usually involved.”

Burt looked devastated and furious at the same time. And then his eyes fell back on Kurt and all he was was utterly defeated. “When I invited them to live here,” he said carefully, making sure Kurt was paying close attention, “I was genuinely doing it for you. I can see how that mighta… got lost in translation a bit. But it really was for you. It was what I thought was best for you at the time.”

Kurt squeezed his arms around his legs, mirroring the squeeze of his heart in his chest.

“And now,” Burt continued, “I need you to understand the reason for what I’m about to do, okay? It’s for you, and what I need to do for you. I’m going to tell Carole and Finn to move out.”

Kurt took in a small, sharp breath and worked to keep his face neutral. “You don’t need to do that,” he said, voice carefully void of emotion.

“Yes, I do,” Burt said simply.

Kurt swallowed. “You shouldn’t rush into a decision anyway. You’ll regret saying that in a few hours time.”

“No, I won’t,” Burt said, with a new, steely expression in his eyes. “I won’t have anyone who has treated you like that in my house.”

“You shouldn’t kick her out,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “Because then you’ll miss her and you’ll grow to resent me for it and-“

“Kid, I could never resent you,” Burt said, leaning forward in his chair. “Never. This is me making a decision based on my priorities, okay?”

Kurt ran his hands carefully down the sides of his jeans and got to his feet. “I think you should think about it more.”

He flicked his eyes to the door and then back to his father. Burt took the hint, slowly, always slowly these days, lifting himself up from the chair.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” he said steadily. “But if it makes you feel better about the whole situation, I will think it over and let you know tomorrow, okay?”

Kurt nodded stiffly, tipping his weight onto the outer sides of his feet and burying his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and twisting them together in the middle, his shoulders set stiff and unyielding as he waited for his father to leave.

Burt pulled the door shut behind him and Kurt immediately darted over, clicked the lock across and retreated to his closet, shutting that door behind him with a finite thunk.

He sank down onto the floor and leant back against the wall, surrounded by shirts and jeans and the familiar smell of boot polish mixed in with the ever-lingering traces of perfume.

He knew he had to call Blaine, knew he had to go through the story again. Blaine deserved to know. But for right now, Kurt needed to breathe.

 

*

 

Blaine got to school the next morning to find Kurt already sat on the wall next to Blaine’s usual parking spot, accompanied by his customary cigarette and cup of coffee. There was a second coffee on the wall next to him, and Blaine couldn’t help but give a small smile as he clambered out of his car.

“Hey,” Kurt said, handing him the coffee cup and then patting the wall next to him. “Sit.”

Blaine perched on the edge of the wall and briefly rested his hand on Kurt’s in a silent greeting. He took a sip of his coffee, allowing a second to savour the rich warmth of the coffee as it slipped down his throat.

“You didn’t call last night,” he said, pressing his knees together and keeping his posture stiff and upright - the antithesis to Kurt; slouched low on the wall, curled around his coffee.

Kurt was quiet, his face paler than usual and his eyes down, the skin underneath them puffy, and looking very much to Blaine like he had gotten no sleep whatsoever.

“I just needed a moment,” Kurt said.

“I was worried.”

Kurt straightened his spine, eyes hardening. “I was at home. You knew I was at home. There was no need to worry about me.”

Blaine chewed on his bottom lip. “You know that’s not what I was worried about.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, sounding like it was causing him considerable effort to stay civil, “I just needed two seconds to think for myself.”

Something in Blaine’s stomach twisted and he bit down on his bottom lip again. “Okay. Sorry I care so much.”

Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Blaine, come on. Can we not? Let’s just go in to school.”

“Fine,” Blaine said, getting to his feet and pulling his bag onto his shoulder. He set off across the parking lot, Kurt catching up a moment later to walk silently beside him.

Kurt followed him to his locker again, hovering next to him while he picked out his books.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Blaine muttered, checking in his bag to make sure that he had everything he needed.

“Do what?”

“Be my bodyguard.”

Kurt shrugged. “I want to.”

“Well, you won’t be able to soon, when you leave for New York, so there’s not much point doing it now.”

Kurt frowned. “Okay, what’s going on with you today?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Kurt tipped his head back and then brought it back down to look at Blaine, his eyes glinting grey and blue. “Seriously? Okay, you know what? I have no idea what’s going on with you so I’m just going to go. I’ll see you in Glee. You’re welcome for the coffee, by the way.”

Blaine watched him walk away down towards his homeroom, frustrated and so very achingly sad. One day Kurt was going to walk away like that and Blaine wouldn’t be seeing him a few hours later.

 

*

 

Blaine’s bitterness and sadness very quickly slipped into guilt as the morning wore on, his stomach churning at the idea that he had rejected Kurt and pushed him away when he was clearly hurting from something that had happened at home.

Blaine caught glimpses of Kurt throughout the morning between classes, always fleeting, through a gap in the swarm of students or as he turned into a classroom, always held tall and closed off, his eyes straight forward and jaw set, not acknowledging anyone or anything around him.

In the last period before lunch, Blaine sat, staring at his phone, agonising over whether to ask Kurt if he wanted to eat with him. In the end he decided to let Kurt come to him. Kurt knew where he would be. If he wanted to eat with him he could.

Kurt didn’t show.

Blaine’s guilt increased ten fold. A plan began to form in Blaine’s mind, a plan where he would show Kurt how much he meant to him. Show him that he would always be here for him. By the time Glee rolled around, Blaine was ready.

He arrived at the choir room early to meet with the string players and then sat in his normal chair at the back of the room, knee jiggling up and down, swivelling his head to the door every time he heard footsteps passing down the hallway. Glee members drifted in in small groups or on their own, until everyone was there apart from Kurt, the seat next to Blaine’s remaining achingly empty.

Just as Mr Schue was walking to the centre of the room, Kurt appeared in the doorway. Blaine sucked in a steadying breath, centring himself as Kurt hesitated for a fraction of a second and then made his way towards Blaine. Blaine sent him a hopeful smile, which he was relieved to see was returned with a small twitch of the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” Blaine said softly.

“Hi,” Kurt breathed.

Blaine opened his mouth to speak but Kurt silenced him with a raise of his hand. “Can I? Look, I don’t want to fight with you. But I need space. I needed space,” he corrected. “Dad kind of dropped a bombshell on me last night.”

“Yeah?” Blaine prompted.

Kurt nodded, eyes forward and far away. “Can we talk about this later? I don’t want to do this here at school. I’ll tell you about it when I’m ready. I can’t-, deal with this at the moment. I can’t have you pissed at me as well.”

Kurt had pressed his hands together in his lap, his eyes dropped. Blaine reached across to squeeze his hands.

“I’m not pissed at you, it’s fine. I was just being silly and selfish.”

Kurt frowned, but their conversation was interrupted by the clap of Mr Schuester’s hands.

“Alright, everyone,” he started, pausing when Blaine jumped to his feet. “Yes, Blaine?”

Blaine weaved through the chairs and went to stand next to Mr Schuester. “I would like to sing something,” he announced, then looked at Mr Schue expectantly, waiting until he moved off to the side.

Blaine glanced at Kurt, who looked warily back at him. Blaine swallowed. “So, I haven’t sang a solo in a long time, but I think this is right. This is-, well, you know who this is for.”

Blaine sent another, rather more nervous smile to Kurt, and moved to sit at the piano, wiping his hands on his pants.

They made a statue of us  
And they put it on a mountain top  
Now tourists come and stare at us  
Blow bubbles with their gum  
Take photographs have fun, have fun

Kurt’s face softened as the song progressed, his head tilting to the side and a small smile tugging at his lips.

Blaine, enlivened, threw himself into the words, making sure that Kurt understood that he meant every single one. He let the song consume him, flowing out through the tips of his fingers and onto the keys of the piano to resonate around the room.

A quick glance around the room, and most of them looked a bit bewildered, apparently having forgotten that Blaine was capable of carrying a song. Rachel had her hand over her heart, and Puck, just along from her, had his eyes glazed over as he wrapped an arm around Quinn. Blaine let his gaze drift back to Kurt, back to where he was directing all his energy, all his love, all his music. And Kurt never looked away, seemingly unaware for the moment of the numerous glances being sent his way by the rest of Glee Club.

The gentle scrubbing of the strings faded out, leaving just Blaine to play out the final chords on the piano. As he finally lifted his hands, Blaine watched Kurt blink and come to himself, posture stiffening as he became aware again of the other people in the room.

Applause broke out, several of the group getting to their feet. Blaine tore his gaze away from Kurt and grinned, a bubble of happiness expanding and releasing in his chest.

“Wow, Blaine,” Mr Schue said, walking over to him, still clapping his hands. “We’ll have to give you a solo at regionals. We didn’t know you had that hidden away.”

Blaine raised his eyebrows, and gave a small unsurprised chuckle, “I did a similar thing for my audition, but okay.”

The Glee Club crowded around him, and he got lost in it, caught up in the thrilling excitement of finally, again, being able to express himself, and feel completely safe whilst doing so.

Rachel dragged him aside and started naming potential duets for them, and Blaine caught sight of Kurt. He was still sitting at the back, on his own, away from all the ruckus of the rest of the Glee Club.

Blaine excused himself from Rachel and wound his way through the empty chairs to sit next to him.

“So?” he prompted, a giddy smile lighting up his face.

Kurt gave a small, tight smile. “It was good.”

Blaine’s smile dropped, instantly deflated, the energy draining from his body to leave him heavy.

“Good?” he repeated quietly.

Kurt shrugged. “What else do you want me to say? You know it was good.”

“Nothing,” Blaine said. “I just-, you get that that was for you, right?”

“Yeah,” Kurt said slowly. “I liked it.”

Blaine stared at him, but Kurt wouldn’t look back, keeping his narrowed gaze forwards, where the rest of the club were all staring at them with unveiled interest. They all quickly looked away, making startled conversation and making their way back to their chairs.

Blaine turned back to Kurt, mumbling a quiet, flat, “I’m glad you liked it.”

Kurt nodded.

The class resumed. Blaine pressed his lips together in an attempt to keep a hold on the swirling wash of misery threatening to overcome him.

 

*

 

The end of Glee could not come soon enough for Kurt. He walked silently with Blaine through the virtually empty car park to Blaine’s car. Blaine wasn’t saying anything, but then, he had been acting weird all day so Kurt didn’t question it.

Kurt followed Blaine around to the driver’s side, crowding him around the door and pressing a hot, fierce kiss to Blaine’s lips.

Blaine blinked, his cheeks growing pink. “What was that for?”

“For the song,” Kurt said, with an impish grin. “Thank you.”

“The song?” Blaine asked. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

Kurt wrinkled his nose. “I said I liked it, didn’t I?”

“Well yeah,” Blaine replied. “But it didn’t really look like you did. You didn’t even look at me afterwards.”

Kurt brought his head back, frown deepening. “What did you expect me to do? Lay one on you in the middle of the choir room?”

“No,” Blaine said, extricating himself from the circle of Kurt’s arms. “But it would’ve been nice for you to acknowledge the fact that I sung a song for you. A love song for you.”

“I did,” Kurt said, folding his arms over his chest, mouth setting into a thin line. “What is with you today? I’m getting whiplash here. First you’re weird and touchy this morning, then you’re singing desperate love songs to me, then you’re bitter that my reaction in front of people I despise was not exuberant enough.”

“Desperate?” Blaine whispered.

“Urgh, you know I didn’t mean that,” Kurt said, his insides twisting. “I loved it. But if you don’t understand that I’m not going to be all over you in front of people who harassed me for years for being gay then you don’t know me as well as I thought.”

“Kurt-”

“No, okay. I’m done here. I’m done with today. Today can fuck it.”

Kurt turned on his heel and struck out along the street towards home, his heart wrenching at the broken expression on Blaine’s face as he had whipped around.

 

*

 

Kurt slammed the front door behind him, immediately rushing up the stairs and into his room. He sat at his desk but jumped up right away, restless energy thrumming through his body, refusing to allow him to settle. He went through into his closet, running an appraising eye around the rails of clothing, and began throwing clothes off their hangers and into the middle of the floor.

He jumped when there was a knock on the open closet door. He blinked, looking down at the floor. The vast majority of his clothes were now in messy piles, scattered all over the cream carpet. He dragged his gaze up to meet his father’s eye.

“I thought I locked my door,” he muttered.

“You did,” Burt said. “I just finally perfected teleportation.”

Kurt let his head drop to his chest. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve thought about what we talked about yesterday a lot,” Burt said.

Kurt kept completely still.

“And I’ve decided that I’m definitely going to ask them to move out,” Burt continued steadily.

Kurt worried his bottom lip, biting on the inside of his cheek.

Burt made a quick move as if to leave but then stilled, hovering in the doorway. “I just wanted to ask if it was okay to explain to Carole exactly why, or if you’d prefer I didn’t?”

Kurt flexed his hand along the side seam of his jeans, mind racing as he dug his nail into the denim. “I would rather you didn’t,” he whispered.

“Okay.” Burt nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll talk to her this evening. I’ll just-” He gestured back out of the room and walked off, leaving Kurt stranded among bundles of dark clothing. He reached over to shut the door, taking a long, quivering breath. The air hit the back of his throat sharply, stuttering in his throat as he forced it out again.

“That’s fine,” Kurt echoed to himself. “Just fine.”


	33. Chapter 33

Early the next morning, Kurt steeled himself before opening his bedroom door. He hadn’t gone down for dinner after his father had left, choosing instead to wait until late to slink down to the kitchen to grab some food, when the house had sank back into the silence that Kurt had grown so accustomed to over the years.

The house was still quiet that morning as Kurt headed down the stairs, keeping his tread light. He didn’t want to disturb the stillness any more than he needed.

He walked into the kitchen, his step faltering as noticed Carole sitting at the kitchen table. She hastily wiped her eyes and gave a weak smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be up this early,” she said in a shaky voice.

Kurt swallowed and moved over to the fridge, avoiding looking at her.

He heard her take a sip of the coffee she had in front of her as he stared aimlessly into the fridge, heard her take a series of steadying breaths before she spoke again.

“I don’t know the details,” she said. “But I know that Finn has behaved terribly to you in the past. I just wanted to-. Not apologise, that’s not for me to do, but I just want tell you that he has done a lot of growing up since then. He’s not that kid anymore.”

Kurt pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, staring forward.

“I’m just really sad that this hasn’t worked out,” Carole said, voice thick. “That’s all I want to say.”

“It wasn’t my decision,” Kurt said quietly, with no intonation. “I didn’t suggest it. You’re appealing to the wrong person.”

“I know, I’m not-, that’s not what I’m doing. I just wanted you to know.”

Kurt slammed the fridge shut. “Well, now I know,” he said, and strode out of the room empty-handed.

His pace slowed once he was out of the front door and he paused for a moment holding on to the rail of the deck. Shaking his head forcefully to try to take his mind from the simmering churn in the pit of his stomach, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and set off in the direction of school.

 

*

 

Kurt got to school early. Too early. He hovered in the parking lot in indecision, before finally deciding to go inside. It would still be at least an hour before even the keenest of the keen arrived anyway.

He wandered through the empty halls, lost in his thoughts until he found himself in front of the choir room. He exhaled slowly, pushing open the door. The choir room was dark, the blinds pulled down over the windows, and chairs were stacked at the back of the room.

Kurt went over to the windows and tugged the string to open the blinds. The early morning light trickled in, illuminating the space with gentle radiance. Kurt took a moment to drink in the quiet before drifting back over to the piano, nudging out the stool with his foot and slipping onto it, running his hands along the keys as he went.

“You should sing something.”

Kurt jumped, gripping the piano to steady himself. He closed his eyes and turned towards the door before opening them again. Blaine was standing just inside the choir room, gripping his bag. “I got here just as you came inside, so I followed you in.”

Kurt set his jaw and revolved his head back to look back down at the piano.

“I would love to hear you sing properly,” Blaine said, taking a step towards him.

“Not going to happen,” Kurt said shortly. “I haven’t sung in a long, long time.”

“Sure you have,” Blaine said. “I’ve heard you sing bits and pieces lots of times.”

“Blaine. Stop.”

Blaine sighed. “Sorry I just-. Sorry.”

Kurt shrugged a shoulder.

“Look, Kurt, about yesterday-”

“No,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I am not in the mood to-”

“Kurt, you can’t keep just brushing these conversations aside and walking away.”

“Blaine,” Kurt ground out. “I am telling you that I am not in a better head space than yesterday to talk about this and if you keep on pushing me it’s not going to be pretty.”

Blaine pressed his lips together, breathing through his nose. “What about me, then? I guess my head space doesn’t matter, right?”

Kurt curled his lips over his teeth and tilted his head away from Blaine.

“You’re freezing me out,” Blaine continued.

“Are you serious?” Kurt said, whipping his head around.

“Uh, yeah,” Blaine said. “You’re not talking to me anymore. I just want to talk to you. You don’t have to tell me every little detail about everything, I just want to talk to my boyfriend.”

“I cannot believe this,” Kurt muttered. “I cannot believe this. Blaine, you didn’t talk to me about the bullying for months.”

“Because I didn’t know how to deal with it!” Blaine said. “Because it was hard to talk about. Because I knew talking about it wouldn’t fix anything anyway.”

“Right,” Kurt said emphatically. “ _Right._ ”

“Look, I don’t want to fight-“

Kurt snorted. “Clearly you do otherwise you wouldn’t still be here.”

“I don’t want to fight,” Blaine said again, determined. “I want to talk.”

“I don’t want to,” Kurt said, separating each word. “I came here early to _think_. On my _own_. You need to give me some room to breathe. Stop clinging all over me.”

Hurt pooled in Blaine’s eyes but to Kurt increasing annoyance, he still didn’t leave. “A second ago you were complaining that I was icing you out over the bullying thing, now you’re saying that I’m clinging too hard? And you say _I’m_ giving _you_ mixed messages. You choose to follow me around, to ‘save me’ from the football guys or whatever it is you think you can do, but now I’m clingy?”

Kurt’s body tensed and he rose from the piano stool to face Blaine properly, eyes flashing. “You want to get beaten up by the football team? You want that? They are _scared_ of me, Blaine. I have shit on them.”

“Yeah, and that’s going to be such a great help next year when you’re not here, isn’t it?” Blaine said, his voice thick and strangled and nothing like the smooth timbre of his normal speaking voice.

“Why the fuck do you keep bringing up next year all of a sudden? We’ve been through this. We both want to do to New York. There’s no problem there.”

Blaine stared at him in disbelief. “You’re going to _New York_. You’ll be in New York City for at least a year while I’m stuck here. New York City, Kurt. And I’ll be here. On my own.”

Kurt ground his teeth together. “Is that what this is all about? Is this why you keep saying bitter little comments about next year? Blaine. You’re creating problems that don’t exist yet. I can’t placate you with a solution to a problem that doesn’t exist. What the hell do you expect me to do with that? You know I’m leaving, you’ve known for a long time. I have to. I need to get out of this fucking town. And maybe it’s harder now because of _you_ and I guess I’ll be leaving my dad on his own.” Kurt’s stomach twisted, mind flashing briefly to the look on Carole’s face that morning. He pulled himself back. Back to Blaine still standing indignant and hurt before him. “And you know what? I walk you down the hall because I fucking _love_ you and because I can actually do something to help with this shit for once. It’s not a fucking melodramatic stretch for me to say that that is literally the only thing in my life right now that I have control over.”

“Well, that’s just not true, is it?” Blaine said, lowering his voice and breathing fast. “You have full control over everything that’s happening at your home. Your dad would walk to the ends of the earth for you, Kurt. It’s _you_ who’s not talking to _him_. He will do anything for you. That’s all on you.”

Kurt recoiled, his lungs constricting and making it difficult for him to breathe. Heat prickled behind his eyes and he held up a hand to stop Blaine saying another word.

“We’re back to playing the family olympics are we, Blaine?” he said. “Because I don’t know if it escaped your notice, but my mom is fucking _dead_ so I will always win.”

Blaine didn’t move, his expression barely changing. “I’m not going to be scared off by you mentioning your mom, Kurt, if that’s what you’re trying to achieve.”

“Then what the fuck will it take?” Kurt said through sharp breaths.

Blaine still didn’t move.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” He said, louder.

“Because I love you.”

“That is not the answer everything! _I love you_ doesn’t solve anything. _I love you_ doesn’t stop people from leaving. So get the fuck out.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Blaine said thickly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You-” Kurt shook his head, a deep pit in his stomach opening up. “Fine then _I will_.”

He lurched forward, hand curling up on his forehead to block his face, weaving past Blaine and then he was running, out of the choir room out of the hallway out of the school out out out out _get out_.

 

*

 

Kurt walked and walked, allowing his feet to carry him away from school, away from his house, away from everything. He slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out the silk scarf, winding it through his fingers and then tying it loosely around his neck, tucking the loose ends into his shirt to lie next to his heart.

After a while he paused and blinked, looking around him. He was in a nondescript suburban street, the world around him just beginning to wake up. Kurt rubbed the material of the scarf, turned on the spot and began to walk with purpose.

Not long later, the entrance to the graveyard appeared ahead of him. The wrought iron arch leading in was bare, free of the roses and cascades of flowers that twined around the delicate metal framework in the spring and summer.

Kurt followed the familiar path past the ivy covered crumbling graves at the front and to the back, to the newer, marble headstones. The number of bunches of flowers laid carefully on the grass or propped up against the stones increased as he continued to walk.

There was no-one else about so Kurt didn’t go directly to his mother, choosing to zig-zag his way through the headstones, feet crunching on the gravel, pausing every now and again to read the inscriptions and dedications; messages of nothing but love, warming Kurt’s heart, even if it made the ache in his chest throb just that little bit more painfully.

He approached his mother’s grave slowly. There were flowers leaning against the headstone. They looked to be fresh, a day or two old at most. Kurt trailed his fingers over the top of the marble, murmuring a gentle, “Hey, Mom,” and leant down to brush his thumb over the soft petals of the flowers.

He sank to the ground, folding his legs underneath him to sit on his feet and delved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, tugging the material taut.

Kurt gazed at the flowers, his eyes swimming over. His father had been here. Recently. Kurt took a shuddering breath and dipped his chin low. He plucked out a white carnation from the bunch and lifted it to his nose, breathing in the delicate fresh scent, catching just that hint of sweetness before it was whisked away by the gentle breeze.

His mother always had carnations around the house; they were her favourite flower. Burt used to bring them home for her all the time. And every time she would smile that perfect, sparkling smile.

“I need you to tell me what to do, Mom,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I don’t know what to do with Blaine. I don’t know what to do with Dad.”

The plastic wrapped around the flowers fluttered in the breeze, exposing the pink tissue paper underneath it, already crinkled from the damp. Kurt stared at it for a moment before letting out a thick chuckle and flicking away a stray tear clinging to his jaw.

“If you could use words and not weird weather signals that would be really helpful,” he said with a small tip of his lips. He sighed. “I don’t know why this stupid Carole thing is messing me up so much. It’s what I wanted, right? Sorry, Mom, I don’t want to talk about Carole to you. You’ll mess her up when she joins you at the grand tea party in the clouds, right?”

But the words rang untrue while he said them. His mother would not do anything bad to Carole. His mother would be thankful to anyone that had returned a smile to Burt’s face, to anyone that made the love of her life live again. Kurt wrapped his arms around his stomach, swallowing.

“It’s not fair,” he said, the words catching in his throat. He could almost hear her replying. “Life’s not fair, sweetheart,” she would say, smoothing down his hair. “You’ve got to show life who’s the bigger man.”

“I still don’t trust him,” he said. It felt like much more of a betrayal here. “I don’t know how to do that again. I’m sorry.”

The wind began to pick up, whipping at the ends of the scarf that had edged out from under his shirt. The air was cool and reinvigorating on his face and his closed his eyes and opened his chest, breathing in the fresh air.

He didn’t speak again, just sat quietly in the deserted graveyard. He supposed it would probably be considered weird that he felt so peaceful here, but he didn’t care.

Soon, however, his legs began to cramp up so he gently placed the carnation in front of the headstone and got to his feet, pressing his fingers to his lips and then to the engraving of her name. “Love you, Mom,” he whispered, and slowly walked away.

 

*

 

Kurt didn’t return to school that day. Or the next. He aimlessly wandered the town, spending time on his own to gather his thoughts. Blaine didn’t try and contact him and Kurt was thankful for the space. When he returned to school, he kept himself to himself, slipping from class to class and eating lunch off-campus, avoiding Glee Club altogether. He tried to keep an eye on Blaine without Blaine guessing what he was up to, making sure, if he could, that the football guys were keeping their distance. He had texted Quinn, asked her to watch out for Blaine and for the moment at least, Blaine seemed to be okay. Not that that stopped Kurt’s heart from twisting and shame pooling in his stomach every time he caught sight of him.

He got a text one night from Blaine. _I love you. I just… wanted to say that. I’ll give you space if you need it. I miss you._ He didn’t reply, but fell asleep that night with the message still open on the screen, his hand curled around the phone.

Carole and Finn spent those days packing up the small amount of possessions that Kurt had allowed them in in the first place. Most of their stuff was still at Carole’s un-sold house, anyway. Kurt watched from afar, detached, passive and silent, as his dad helped them. Finn tried to talk to him numerous times, but Kurt gave him the cold-shoulder. He had nothing new to say to him.

Saturday came; the day of their departure. Kurt stayed in his room, watching from his bedroom window as his father, Carole and Finn traipsed back and forth out to the drive with boxes. Watched as Burt and Carole hugged goodbye on the deck. Carole had her back to him so he had a clear view of his father’s face, scrunched tightly in resigned anguish.

It was a jolt in Kurt’s chest; an electric shock to his system after days and days of clawing numbness. Kurt’s breath stuttered.

He pressed his cigarette into the ashtray on his windowsill and turned his back on them, leaving his room and going down the stairs, his movements mechanical and determined. He swung open the front door, stepping out onto the deck. His father and Carole stood back from their embrace, startled.

“Kurt? What are you doing?”

Kurt didn’t turn around but went around to the trunk of the small van Carole had rented and opened it up. He took one last, deep breath, and grabbed one of the boxes. He strode back up to the house.

“She stays,” he said, definitively. “They’re staying.”

 

*

 

_One Week Later_

Burt sat back in his chair in the office with a sigh, looking out through the window onto the shop floor. His gaze lingered on Kurt, lying flat under under that tin-can of a Chevy that had been brought in a couple of days ago. Kurt was biting his lip in frustration, his face all scrunched up in that exact same way as Lizzie’s did when she was frustrated; brow furrowed, cheeks tight, eyes fierce and determined.

Burt folded his hands together across his stomach, taking a deep breath as he watched Kurt work. His phone rang, and Burt barely glanced at it as he picked it up, eyes fixed still on his son, who was sliding out from under the car. “Hello?” he said vaguely into his phone, watching as Kurt wiped down his hands and walked across the garage to one of the work benches.

“Hey, Burt?” the voice on his phone interrupted him.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” Burt said. Kurt picked up his own phone from the bench and froze. Burt sat up a little in his chair, a worried frown forming.

“It’s Finn.”

“Finn?” Burt was distracted, watching with an increasing sense of foreboding as Kurt stared at his phone, jabbing his thumb at the screen and bringing his other hand up to his forehead and pushing the front of his hair back.

“Yeah, look. I’m at school with Blaine-“

Burt snapped back to the phonecall. “Kurt’s Blaine?”

“Yeah. He was in some trouble earlier, um, here at school. But he’s fine now. It’s just, is Kurt there?”

“Yeah,” Burt said, glancing back up to the bench only to see, with an unsettling swoop to his stomach, empty space. He scanned the shop floor quickly but Kurt had completely disappeared. Burt got to his feet, running a hand over his head.

“So I think Blaine tried to call Kurt, like, a lot, or texted him a bunch or something, but his phone’s broken and he doesn’t want Kurt to worry. Can you warn Kurt or something? Tell him Blaine’s okay?”

“What happened?”

“Ah, um. Some guys on the football team tried to get to him before Glee today.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He’s fine.”

Burt was already hurrying as fast as he could - which was not fast at all these days with this damn heart of his - out onto the shop floor. “Thanks, I’ll try and let him know,” he said, hanging up without waiting for a reply. He checked under the counter at the entrance, but the hook that he put his keys for the truck on was empty. Burt’s mouth went dry.

Kurt didn’t drive. Kurt refused to drive. Kurt could drive, of course he could; he was a mechanic’s kid for god’s sake, but he’d spurned any attempt from Burt to start driving properly, and Burt hadn’t the heart to push. Burt’d seen the police photos. The front of her car, mangled metal and splintered plastic, the back with barely a scratch on it. He’d had to identify his Lizzie and pick Kurt up from the hospital, not a graze on his skin but his eyes hollowed from within as they stared sightlessly at the separating curtain around his cubicle in the ER. Burt had always wondered how much Kurt remembered, if Lizzie had seen that kid’s truck coming or had died with a smile on her face, delighted, always so delighted, by Kurt and his stories. But Burt had never wanted to force Kurt to remember if he’d laid that memory to rest, so he’d never asked.

And now he had got in a car. His big-hearted, stubborn and brave kid had got in a goddamn car. Swearing under his breath, he pushed through the door and out to the parking lot.

The truck was already at the gate out of the lot, heading down to the turning onto the road, a steady stream of traffic roaring past as he edged up to the junction. Burt’s heart jumped in his chest, adrenaline suddenly coursing through his blood.

Burt waved his arms wildly over his head, shouting out, trying to get Kurt’s attention, but to avail. His eyes widened, an aching dread filling his stomach with lead. Burt watched, frozen, as Kurt began to pull out. Watched as a silver Range Rover came gunning up the outside lane. Listened as there was a blare of a horn and a squeal of tyres.

Not again.  


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings this chapter for a car crash and a vivid description of a panic attack.

_The Day Before_

Blaine saw Kurt just after lunch, his face detached and chin held high as usual as he strode down the corridor and into his history class. Every bone in Blaine’s body yearned to reach out to Kurt but he held himself back, no matter how much it hurt to stay away. Kurt had said he needed space, so space he would have. Blaine could wait for Kurt to come to him. He _could._

He still had no idea what had even set Kurt off in the first place. One moment everything was wonderful with Kurt in Glee Club and hugging him and kissing him and the next he was pulling away. Was he overwhelmed? Getting out his home frustrations on Blaine? Scared? Of what though? Of _Blaine?_ The thought made Blaine feel queasy.

He walked along the emptying corridor in a daze until with a _slam_ , he found himself crashing into the row of lockers next to him. He struggled to stay on his feet, heart rocketing.

There was a loud whoop from behind him and he whirled around to see Azimio from the football team high-fiving his friend. “Where’s your little faggy friend now, huh?” He jeered. “No-one to protect your little fairy ass now is there? What you gonna do? You’re too weak to look after yourself.”

All the blood drained from Blaine’s face and he nearly tripped over his feet as he tried to get away.

The second bell rang for afternoon classes.

“This isn’t over, perv,” Azimio called after him. “We’ve held back, tried to get the school to see you for who you really are. But you don’t seem to be getting the message, so we’ll have to be a little more… persuasive. You’re not welcome here.”

Blaine ran. His breathing was laboured and sharp in his chest as he reached the end of the corridor, looking left and right quickly before darting into the disabled bathroom and slamming the lock into place. He sank to the floor, his head between his knees. It was dark and quiet and all Blaine could hear was his own gasping breaths.

He had run. Again. 

He hadn’t fought his corner. He hadn’t defended himself. _You’re too weak to look after yourself._

His fingers curled into fists by his side. He was not weak. He could fight. He could defend himself.

He got to his feet, his legs shaking. He thought of Kurt, always so strong, always so proud and determined to do what he thought was right.

Blaine lifted his chin, set his mouth in a firm line, and exited the bathroom.

 

*

 

That afternoon he was so tense during classes that he didn’t take in a single thing. He walked as tall as he could, eyes flicking all over the corridors, looking for anything, any sign of the football players doing anything different to usual.

Nothing happened.

The end of school bell rang and Blaine walked back to his locker amid the masses.

Nothing.

Blaine got into his car and drove home in silence.

When he entered his house he dropped his bag at the foot of the stairs and went straight down to the basement, unbuttoning his shirt and stretching out his muscles.

He laid into the punching bag until his arms were shaking. 

 

*

 

It happened finally when he was on his way to Glee Club the next day.

The school had emptied fast after the last class, leaving just the few students in after-school clubs milling around. Blaine had just turned into the hallway that his locker was in when he saw them.

A small group of them, five or six, were walking at the other end of the corridor. One of them glanced up and saw him, hitting his buddy in the side and gesturing at Blaine.

Blaine’s heart accelerated, but he swallowed and stood his ground. His hands curled into fists at his sides. 

They approached, jostling each other and jeering. Blaine forced himself to breathe and slipped his bag off his shoulder, propping it up against the closest bank of lockers.

He returned to the middle of the corridor, eyes flitting from one of them to the next. 

“Aw, look at this!” one of the guys crowed, loud and echoing in the empty corridor. “He actually wants to try to fight us.”

Blaine tensed all his muscles, his fingernails digging into his palms.

“What do you think a weak little cocksucker like you could actually do against us, huh? Us _real_ men?”

“Real men who need to outnumber someone five to one in order to confront them?” Blaine asked, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. 

“Alright enough with this crap already,” a different one said, beginning to circle around Blaine. “Let’s do what we came here to do.”

 He darted forward out of nowhere and sent Blaine crashing into the lockers before he could even think about reacting. 

Blaine used his own momentum to bounce off the lockers without falling over. He turned back, swivelling in a circle, raising his fists and bending his legs into his familiar boxing position. 

He jabbed suddenly forward, delivering a hard punch to the jaw of the guy closest to him. The guy stumbled back in surprise, but the other four were immediately on Blaine, pushing him roughly back into the lockers. 

“Hey!” a voice called from the end of the corridor.

They all turned around. Finn, Puck, Sam and Mike were all standing at the end of the hallway from which Blaine had come.

“No, guys,” Blaine said, through deep breaths, pushing himself off the locker. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yeah, it looks like this is going really well for you,” Mike said lightly, stepping towards them.

Blaine glanced at the semi circle around him. They were all still looking at the newcomers, slight hesitation and wariness coming over their faces. They were now evenly matched.

“Guys, please, I can defend myself,” Blaine said, frustration building, not looking back at the Glee Club members.

“Yeah,” Finn said, “But you don’t have to do it alone.” 

Blaine paused, turning to face them slowly. They were all staring back at him, standing defiantly together. And they had come for him. There was a pleasant fluttering in his belly and a small smile spread over his face. 

“Oh,” he said, quietly.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Puck said. He cracked his knuckles. “Can I punch one of these punks yet?”

The football guys had backed off a step or two from Blaine, all of them glancing uncertainly at each other.

“Bunch of fairies,” one of them muttered. 

Finn turned to Puck. “Yes you can.”

And with that, Finn and Puck lunged forwards simultaneously, and Blaine completely lost track of what was going on. Scuffles broke out on all sides, grunts and yelps and thuds mixing together. Blaine lowered his stance again and let his instincts take over, diving into the fray.

 

*

 

The fight only lasted a few minutes, until the football guys finally realised that Blaine and the others weren’t giving up easily. They backed away down the corridor, muttering bitterly amongst themselves, and happy whoops from Puck and Sam filled the hallway this time.

“Dude, you were awesome,” Sam said, slapping his hand against Blaine’s back.

Blaine grinned. “Thanks for helping.”

“No worries,” Sam said easily. “We’re all Glee bros, right?”

“Right,” Blaine said, slightly bemused but so, so happy. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, hands still shaking but eager to share this with Kurt. He began sending off short texts to tell the story but before he had even got going, his hands shook too much and he dropped his phone. The screen shattered on the floor.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, staring down in horror at the scattered remains of his phone. Shit shit shit. “Can I borrow someone’s phone? I need to call Kurt.”

“Sure, man,” Mike said, digging in his pocket. “What’s his number?”

Blaine froze. “Crap. I don’t know.” He ran his hand over his hair, trying to wrack his brain for Kurt’s number. “Does anyone have it? I really need to talk to him. I left the story in a terrible place.”

They all shook their heads, apologetic expressions on their faces. Blaine swore again to himself.

“Hey,” Finn said, brightening. “I have Burt’s number. I could give him a call if you want?”

“That would be... amazing,” Blaine said, surprised that Finn wanted to help him. “Thank you.”

Finn nodded and sent him an easy smile, bringing the phone up to his ear.  

 

*

 

Kurt saw a flash of silver in his peripheral vision and slammed hard on the brakes. The truck jolted and swung to a stop, sending Kurt slamming forward into the steering wheel.

The woman behind the wheel of the silver car gestured angrily at him as she sailed past. He stared back blankly, the edges of his vision swimming and his pulse deafening in his ears. His heart was skipping in fits and starts in his chest and his breaths came shorter and shorter, his throat closing up until it felt like he was choking. There was a rush of noise and wind and someone was talking to him but he couldn’t hear what they were saying and

_His head snapped back against the seat and everything was an indistinct blur of screaming tyres and crunching metal and flaring light behind his eyelids. He had no sense of up or down or left or right as he was tossed around within the confines of his seatbelt, a tiny buoy in a stormy sea._

_It was over just as quickly as it had started and the car lurched to a stop. He opened his eyes, a quiet whimper escaping his lips. The seat in front of him was twisted and bent and Kurt couldn’t figure it out because then there was nothing; no more car. Just the open air._

_His voice cracked as he almost whispered, “Mom?” He repeated it again, louder, but she didn’t say anything. He kept saying her name, getting louder and more desperate each time, but she never replied._

His dad’s voice cut through out of nowhere, shouting, “Someone come and move the God-damn truck!” and then his world was spinning, nausea rising in his gut as his feet somehow found the ground and then he could see the pale grey road in front of him as he tipped forward. And then there was his father holding him tightly, pinching the skin under his arm as he was heaved along the road and there was another pair of hands on him, helping him move but there was nothing he could do there was no way he could do this how was he supposed to get this far and why couldn’t he breathe? 

Air wouldn’t, couldn’t get in his lungs and he was hot, burning hot all over, sweat trickling down the back of his neck and sticking to his shirt as he tried to focus on something, anything, darting his eyes around and blinking again and again and again but everything was shapes and sounds and watercolour edges.

He was dimly aware that he was panting words, a desperate chant between tighter and tighter breaths of _can’t_ and _gon throw up_ and _can’t breathe_ until the hands released him and he was on the ground.

_His cries had fallen in quiet pleas for his mother as he tried to get out and find her but as much as he fought, he couldn’t get his seatbelt off._

_Then there were people everywhere, pulling at him and talking to him and trying to shift his gaze away from the front of the car, but he wriggled and squirmed and kept looking, she_ must _be there, she couldn’t have just_ disappeared _, she must have just gotten stuck under the door or something, if they just let him go he could find her; he was small, he could crawl through the car, he would_ find _her. He would_ save _her._

_But someone was cutting his seatbelt and then he was lifted gently by strong arms away. He screamed at them to put him back but they didn’t, they kept their hold firm, and all Kurt could see before he was turned away from the car and lowered onto a stretcher was one of her shoes, a nude ballet flat, caught between the mangled remains of the door and the floor._

A pair of large, rough hands squeezed around his own trembling fists. _“Kurt,”_ came the voice, distant and muffled but still too loud and why could he still not breathe.

“Can’t,” he rasped, “breathe.”

“Yes you can,” came the voice. “You _can_ Kurt, okay? Do this with me, buddy, please. Breathe in, two, three, four-“

Kurt shook his head back and forth, his lungs burning, every muscle in his body strung to breaking point. “Can’t, do it, can’t, I can’t.” His mouth was parched dry and he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream, coursing around his body, propelled by the irregular thump-thumpthump of his heart. “It’s- I’m, not, _can’t_.” He was rocking back and forward and side to side and he didn’t know when he started that but now that he was there was no way he could stop. If he stopped that would be it. He hitched another breath in, a half-formed sob escaping his lips. His stomach lurched and his heart catapulted off again and he was going to have a heart attack he was sure of it he was going to die.

“Gon be sick,” he said, voice strangled, his throat raw. He rocked forward a little further, curled up around his stomach but nothing happened.

“Kurt, _breathe_ ,” his dad said clearly. “Listen to my voice. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“I’m gonna die, I’m gonna-”

“ _No,_ no you’re not. You’re safe. You’re here with me and you’re safe, I promise you that. Kurt, d’ya hear me? You. Are. Safe.”

_The sun was blocked from view and his mother was crouching over him, the light catching the edge of her hair so that it glowed in the late summer afternoon sun. Kurt’s wails for attention quietened._

_“What happened, pumpkin?”_

_Kurt sniffled. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “Hurts.”_

_She reached forward and smoothed his hair back from his face, giving him a quick once over. She cooed gently when she saw his knee. “Aw, honey, you scraped your knee. How about we go back up to the house and fix you all up, hm?”_

_Kurt snuffled, running a hand under his nose before he nodded._

_“Come on, sweetheart,” she said,holding out her hand. “You’re too big for me to carry now. “You’ll have to be a big boy and walk yourself. You can do that, can’t you? Come on then, up we go!”_

“Mom, please-”

“It’s just me, Kurt,” his father’s voice was closer now. “But I promise you _I’m here._ Follow my voice, okay? Breathe in, two, three, four, and out, two, three four. In, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four.”

Kurt squeezed his eyes closed and latched on to the voice, sucking in a breath and forcing it back out again. He paused. A fresh wave of fear overtook him.

“Not, working, _can’t.”_

“Stick with it,” Burt said quietly and steadily, squeezing his hands. “Keep going. Breathe in, and out.”

Kurt forced his chest out, sucking in the air between his teeth, holding it there for a moment, waiting for the quiet and firm instruction from his dad to push it back out again. Each lingering pause between breaths was a precipice and he could feel himself teetering on the edge, his mind always one small step from slipping away from him again. 

But he kept going. 

He pushed away everything until all that remained was his father’s voice. Slowly, slowly, ever so very slowly, the adrenaline began to wear off and he seemed to sink into the ground, exhaustion weighing at his limbs. Surrounding sounds gently ebbed into his consciousness; the roar of traffic on the nearby road, the tinny radio just audible from the open shop door, the wind whipping at the tall thin advertisement banners staked into the ground nearby. 

His father’s hands were steady around his, and Kurt drew his strength from them, still keeping up the slow breaths in and out as Burt kept repeating the same instructions over and over again. Kurt started counting his breaths in french, trying to keep his mind occupied.

_Un. Deux. Trois. Quatre. Cinq._

Eventually, Kurt let his legs fall to lie flat on the ground, releasing his hands from his father’s so that they fell to his side. His hands ran across the ground next to him. Grass, he was on grass. His head thunked back against the wall. Breathing came easier now.

“Kurt?”

Kurt made a short sound, thick in his throat. Burt rested a hand on his ankle. The weight was grounding.

_Seize. Dix-sept. Dix-huit. Dix-neuf._

“You want some water or something?”

Kurt dipped his head forwards. Burt squeezed his ankle and called one of the mechanics over, sending him away again to fetch the water.

Kurt realised his eyes were shut; didn’t even remember when he had closed them. He squinted, his eyes opening a fraction, and he blinked rapidly against the light. His dad was kneeling by his feet, staring down at him.

_Trente. Trente-et-un. Trente-_

Kurt lurched forwards, panic blooming in his chest again. “Blaine, I have to get to Blaine-” he rasped, struggling on quivering limbs to get up again. The world tipped and he was caught again.

“No, Kurt-”

“Dad, I have to go,” he pleaded. “I have to help Blaine-”

“No, you don’t,” Burt said, easing Kurt back down to the ground again. “He’s fine, I promise.”

“What?”

“I had just got a call from Finn when you left,” Burt said. “He said there had been some trouble at school but Blaine was fine. His phone’s broken or something so he couldn’t get hold of you.”

Kurt cracked open his eyes to look at Burt, an ache building in his chest. “Please don’t lie about this. Just tell me.”

Burt’s eyes saddened. “I’m not lying.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve never lied to you, Kurt,” he said quietly. “Never.”

Kurt watched him for a moment, studying the deep lines stemming from his honest green eyes. Kurt slid his own eyes closed. “Oh,” he said softly.

He didn’t speak again, just listened as a pair of footsteps approached and a cold bottle of water was nudged into his hand. He wrapped his hand around it. Beads of condensation dripped down the sides, sliding between the ridges of plastic.

Kurt held the bottle against his forehead, slumping back into the wall even more. The seconds ticked by and he resumed his counting.

“Kid, you can’t do that to me again,” Burt said, his voice gruff but somehow still fragile and brittle. Kurt opened his eyes to look at him carefully. “Please, promise me you won’t do that to me.”

Kurt swallowed, but found his throat too tight. He took a sip of water.

“You did it to me,” he murmured.

There was a short pause. “You mean with my heart attack?”

Kurt shook his head and sucked in a deep breath. “With mom. The accident.” He forced his eyes up to meet his father’s. “It was like I lost both my parents that day.”

Burt dipped his head, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He lowered himself to sit properly on the ground, movements slow and not quite steady.

“I lost sight of everything. I lost my wife and I lost myself. But the worst thing, the absolute worst thing that I did was that I lost sight of the most important person in my life. My son.” 

Kurt breathed in a shuddering breath.

Burt continued, the rawness in his voice a vice squeezing around Kurt’s heart. “I know I messed up. I messed up so damn bad. But by the time I’d figured that out it was too late. You had already shut me out. I failed you, Kurt, and I am so, so sorry.”

“If it’s too late then why are you still here?” Kurt whispered. “Why are you still trying?”

“It’s not too late for us,” Burt said, what looked like panic flashing through his eyes. “It’s not. I meant at the time it felt like that. I had no idea what to do.”

Kurt watched him, tried to make sense of the myriad of emotions flitting through his normally so steady eyes. 

“Look, I know I can’t ask for forgiveness, and I’m not going to. What I’m asking is for us to try to find a way to move forward. To _try._ I don’t know what I would do without you in my life, Kurt. I can’t begin to-“ Burt broke off, staring out across the road, rubbing a hand over his head. “I can’t lose you. It’s just us now. Me and you. We’re both going to have to work at this. Please can we both try?”

Kurt didn’t move. “If you realised you were shitty ages ago then why has it taken so long for you to just apologise to me? You’ve kept making fucked-up decision after fucked-up decision and I just, don’t really think that you get it yet.”

“This is about Carole?”

“This is about everything. You kept on - keep on - making decisions for me, without even talking to me about it. And yeah, Carole was the worst one. You gave me no warning and then one day you had taken off your wedding ring and brought some woman into the house. Mom’s house.”

“I thought- I guess I don’t know what I thought. Something had to change and I thought that might do it.”

Kurt let out an irritated breath. “The something that had to change was _you_.”

Burt regarded him closely. “And you,” he said gently. “You’ve come a long way since I brought Carole home. And as for the ring, well, I don’t need a ring to remember your mom, remember my love for her. That’ll always be with me no matter what.”

“You _still_ don’t get it. _You_ might have thought that it was time enough since Mom died, but I hadn’t. Haven’t. Everyone has to come to that decision on their own. You don’t get to tell me that it’s time to move on.” 

Burt opened his mouth to speak but Kurt barrelled on. “Don’t even think about playing the father card and saying you know what’s best for me because guess what? You don’t. You’ve had moments over the years where you’ve half-heartedly tried maybe, but you gave up every single time. You’ve given up on _me_ every single time. I won’t ever forget that.”

Kurt’s voice was raspy and hoarse by the end, so he gulped down the water, needing the excuse to avoid his father’s eyes. 

“I’m not asking for ‘forgive and forget’,” Burt said, shuffling his weight on the ground, and looking to Kurt like he was struggling to stay sitting up this long. Kurt swallowed. Burt resolutely stayed where he was. “That’s bull, life doesn’t work like that. I’m looking for ’want to try to move forward’. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Kurt repeated quietly. “Do you not realise how fucking hard that is?”

Burt searched out his gaze, eyes wide and desperate. “Look, I can keep apologising and apologising ’til I’m blue in the face, but it’s just not getting us anywhere. I’m here, I’m right here and not leaving, not giving up. I promise. I’ve played all my cards, Kurt. You know where I stand. But there comes a point where you’re going to have to make some kind of move. This is up to you, kid.”

Kurt let his gaze fall, his chin coming to rest almost against his chest. He stared down at his hands in his lap. This was it. This was the choice that Blaine’s mom had said he would have to make. Two options. Move forward with his dad or… just not have him in his life any more. 

The prospect of having to continue to work with his father, continue to make him see how fucked up everything truly was made Kurt want to lash out in anger and then curl up on the floor in defeat. But not having a father, not having Burt _there_ made Kurt’s stomach tip. He clenched his jaw, pressing his right thumb into the palm of his left hand and twisting them together. 

Anger fades. Loss stays with you forever.

“If I agree, this is it. I can’t- I couldn’t take it if you gave up on me again,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and strengthened his voice. “I would walk away and never look back.”

“Understood,” Burt said, around a deep breath. “Are you-? Is that a yes?”

Kurt was still tense, and he shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe. And then in one, deep exhalation, he spoke thickly through the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

A whisper, washing onto the edges of his dark world. “Kurt?”

Kurt made small sound low in his throat.

A hand ran gently down the side of his face, fingers carding through his hair. “Kurt?” The voice, now closer and more intimate, and definitely Blaine.

Kurt squinted his eyes open. “Hi,” he said, his voice cracking with sleep. 

Blaine smiled at him, his face close where he was crouched down on the floor. “How are you feeling?”

Kurt licked his lips and rubbed them together, trying to take stock of his body. “Tired, mostly, I think.” He blinked, his mind catching up with his body. “Why- uh, what are you doing here?”

“Your dad called me,” Blaine said, still trailing his fingers down the side of Kurt’s face. “Said you were nearly in a car accident because you were trying to get to me.”

Kurt jolted to a sitting position, looking up and down Blaine quickly. “Are you sure _you’re_ fine? I think Dad said you were fine but are you 100% sure? I’ve heard that people can get internal bleeding and not even realise-”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, pressing a finger to his lips. “I promise you I’m fine.”

Kurt frowned and reached up to gingerly take Blaine’s hand in both of his own. It was bruised and swollen and the skin along his knuckles was broken. “You beat up the football guys?” he asked in wonderment.

“Well, Finn and Puck and Mike and Sam and I,” Blaine said, with a small, proud, smile. Kurt stared at him, turning his hand over and running his thumb absently in small circles on his palm.

“Will you just lie with me for a bit?” he asked, feeling suddenly shy. He glanced up at Blaine nervously. “And then maybe we can talk?”

Blaine squeezed his hand. “Of course.”

Kurt settled back in bed as Blaine wiggled his way out of his outer layers of clothing, watching as Blaine hesitated over taking off his undershirt. “You should definitely remove that,” Kurt mumbled.

Blaine looked at him and rolled his eyes, taking off the offending item and quickly walking around to the other side of the bed to slide under the covers in just his underwear. Kurt rolled over to face him.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Blaine smiled beautifully back at him, relaxed and open and gorgeous. Kurt swallowed.

“Why are you here?” Kurt asked, quietly. “After everything I said? I was horrible to you, Blaine.”

“I said some not very nice stuff, too,” Blaine said. “I just- You tried to get back to me. And that’s all I need to know.”

“I’m really sorry for what I said. How I was,” Kurt said, feeling around under the covers for Blaine’s hand again. He found it and twined their fingers together. 

“Like I told you,” Blaine said, shifting closer and wrapping his other arm around Kurt’s waist. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Kurt shuffled still closer to Blaine until he could feel his body heat. “God I missed you,” Kurt breathed. “I guess I might have a, uh, slight tendency to push people away when I’m scared. Or stressed. Or overwhelmed.”

Blaine raised his eyebrows with a teasing smile. “You think?”

Kurt swatted at him weakly. “Shut up.”

Blaine grinned and they settled down again.

“It’s really hard for me to readjust, you know?” Kurt said, quieter. “I was on my own for so long that suddenly to have you and Dad both wanting things from me and getting close to me is overwhelming. I just want to snap those walls back up again because it was all just too much _._ ”

Blaine didn’t speak, letting Kurt talk.

Kurt took a deep breath and continued. “And that’s not a _you_ thing; it’s definitely a _me_ thing. I’m just letting you know it’s sometimes hard for me. I thought the hard part would be someone getting through the walls but it turns out the walls just keep repairing themselves and snapping back into place.

“Maybe the problem is that you and Dad are actually _inside_ the walls, though?” Kurt said, thinking out loud. “So when that barrier goes up I’m so claustrophobic and trapped I begin to lose myself and just push you away, try to get you back out so I can breathe.”

 “You should install a door in these walls of yours,” Blaine said, and Kurt could see the corner of his lips tip up. “It would make everything a lot easier.”

Kurt pinched Blaine’s arm gently. “Don’t make fun. I’m having deep thoughts here.”

“I know,” Blaine said, taking the hand that he was just pinched with in his own. “I was being serious. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.” 

Kurt hummed.

“Just something to think about,” Blaine said. “It’s good that you’ve recognised it.”

 “It still doesn’t excuse how I acted to you.”

Blaine shook his head but Kurt jumped back in before he could speak.

“No, I mean it,” he said, rubbing down the side of Blaine’s arm. “I’m really sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. And then I left you when you most needed me even though I tried to watch out for you-”

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupted, “I didn’t need protecting. Or, well, it was very sweet of you to want to, but I needed to deal with that on my own. I needed to prove to myself that I could deal with it on my own. And the guys from Glee all helped, but they let me stand up for myself as well.”

“And I didn’t do that?” Kurt asked, sadness creeping into his stomach.

Blaine turned more towards Kurt, propping himself up on his elbow. “It’s different. _Next year_ has been this huge flashing beacon of panic in my mind. I’ve felt so pathetic and weak and lonely here. Next year here without you just sounded like the worst possible scenario and you don’t seem to get that. I really needed to prove to myself that I would be able to cope on my own.”

Kurt frowned. “I don’t get that this school can be difficult and lonely? Because I can assure you, Blaine, I really do.”

Blaine laid a placating hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “I know. What I was saying is you have refused to talk about it with me. You haven’t tried to understand why thinking about next year is difficult for me. You protected me from them by walking me around, but you didn’t think about next year, when you won’t be here to bodyguard. What do I do then? I can’t rely on other people. I needed to protect _myself._ ”

“Okay,” Kurt said slowly, processing. “And now you feel like you can?”

“Yeah,” Blaine said. “I mean, these guys will probably start stuff next year as well, I know it’s not all going to magically be okay now, but I feel like I’ve finally found my place in the school. In Glee Club. And that feels amazing.”

Kurt saw the radiance in Blaine’s eyes, the new energy thrumming under his skin, the way he was just that little bit more comfortable with himself.

“You’re happy,” Kurt stated softly.

“I might be a little high from the adrenaline rush still,” Blaine said. His mischievous grin settled into a pleased smile. “But yes, I think I am.”

“I’m so glad,” Kurt said, squeezing their hands together again.

“Are you?” Blaine asked quietly.

Kurt sighed and tipped his head back into the pillow. “I’m happy that you’re happy,” he murmured. “Can that be enough for now?”

“For now I’ll allow it,” Blaine said, settling back into Kurt’s side. “But we’ll work on it. Together.”

Kurt smiled, warmth winding up all the way from where his toes curled against Blaine’s calves. He bit his lip. “So, are we okay?” he asked hesitantly. 

Blaine pulled back to look Kurt in the eye. “We are _so_ okay,” he said, and leant in to press a soft and lingering kiss to Kurt’s lips. 

Kurt responded immediately, kissing back, relief causing him to hold Blaine tighter, squeeze his arms around Blaine’s waist to feel the warmth and reassurance of Blaine’s body against his. He rolled them over so that Blaine was beneath him. They both paused as their eyes locked.

Kurt stared down at Blaine, slowly settling down so that his weight was on him. He rested his elbows so that they bracketed Blaine’s shoulders and lightly brushed his fingertips along the line of his jaw.

“I missed you, too,” he said, a quiet murmur. 

Blaine quirked his head to the side in question.

“The text you sent me,” Kurt explained. “I missed you, too.”

Blaine smiled his perfect, beatific smile up at Kurt, eyes crinkling at the corners. He took Kurt by surprise and surged up to kiss him again. Kurt grinned into it, pressing down with short, open-mouthed kisses until Blaine’s head fell back to rest on the pillow again.

Blaine slipped his hands up the sides of Kurt’s neck and threaded his fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. Kurt inhaled sharply through his nose as Blaine deepened the kiss even further, their tongues caressing and hands roaming. Kurt didn’t think, just went with his instincts, and nudged his knee between Blaine’s sprawled legs and ground his hips down. 

Blaine’s eyes flew open and Kurt just grinned at him, a buoyant swell of utter contentment and peace bubbling up through him. He pressed another kiss to Blaine’s slack mouth and rubbed his hips down again.

“Are you-“ Blaine gasped, pushing his head back into the pillow, “Sure?”

Kurt hummed and nodded, moving to suck on the tender skin just under Blaine’s jaw. Blaine’s eyes slipped closed as he let out a breathy moan. The sound sent a coursing wave of need around Kurt’s body and Kurt dropped his head so that his forehead rested on Blaine’s shoulder, his hands running down Blaine’s sides and pushing under the elastic of his underwear, giving in, giving everything, to his heart; to Blaine.

 

**

 

Kurt woke only a couple of hours later, his body spooned around Blaine. One arm was wrapped around him, their hands clasped together, gently rising and falling on the soft swell of Blaine’s stomach. His lower arm was jammed awkwardly between them and he gingerly began to extricate it, trying not to wake his sleeping boyfriend.

He flexed his hand, trying to get some feeling back into it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he attempted to will himself to fall back to sleep, but his mind had whirred into life and would not stop.

He gave up with a sigh and rolled away from Blaine and up out of bed. He tugged on his underwear and sweats, grabbing a hoodie from his chair on the way out of the door. 

Finn’s door was shut, a slither of light escaping from underneath, and Kurt passed it silently, hoping that Finn stayed in. 

It was completely dark downstairs, but Kurt didn’t need any light. His feet knew how many stairs there were, how many steps it was along the hall to the kitchen. Forgoing the ceiling lights, Kurt padded across the room and turned on the lamp set on one of the counters, its soft, yellowy light casting a warm glow around the kitchen.

The only sound was the quiet hum of the fridge and the soft thumps of his bare feet on the tile as he walked to the fridge. He grabbed the milk from the door and pushed it closed, a gentle _whoosh_ of air tickling his ankles _._ He reached up to unhook a pan hanging above the island, the clang of the saucepan loud in the quiet room when he placed it on the stove.

He set the milk on to low heat and stirred it in lazy circles with a wooden spoon. He got lost in a daze, thoughts of Blaine and his dad and his mom flickering in a confusing stream back and forth across his mind as his eyes followed the movement of the spoon round and round and round.

“Hey,” Burt said from behind him.

Kurt turned quickly, wooden spoon still clutched in his hand. He nodded in greeting.

“You got enough for two there?”

Kurt hummed in positive response, going back to stirring the milk, the familiarity of the warmth and the smell feeling slightly off with the presence of his father in the room.

“So, Blaine alright?”

Kurt looked sharply up at his father, looking for… he didn’t know what. But all he found was genuine curiosity.

“You don’t have to do that,” Kurt said quietly.

“What?” Burt asked.

Kurt flicked his hand. “The small talk.”

Burt was steady. “It’s not small talk. I’m interested.”

Kurt gripped the wooden spoon a little harder and swallowed, dropping his gaze to the saucepan. “Blaine’s fine.”

“Good.” Burt nodded. “That’s good. I like him; he seems like a good kid.”

Kurt couldn’t think of a reply, just nodded a little helplessly.

They didn’t speak, both staring down at the steady swirling of the spoon in the pan. Burt looked pained, almost, sitting at the breakfast bar opposite him.

Something was coiling in Kurt’s stomach, unease creeping into his movements. He bit his lip and set the spoon against the edge of the pan, turning down the heat and placing his hands on the edge of the worktop. He leant forward.

“This doesn’t make everything okay,” he said. “We’re not suddenly okay. I need you to know that. I’m still so, God, I’m so mad at you.” Kurt closed his eyes. “But I’m tired of being mad. I’m so, so tired of it. I’m ready for something else.”

“That’s all I need,” Burt said. “We’ll work at it. We’ll figure it out.”

Kurt nodded again, scratching the side of his neck. He drew back from where he was leaning over, his shoulders slumping.

He added some vanilla extract and a pinch of nutmeg to the milk.

“So, I was thinking,” Burt said, folding his hands together on top of the island in front of him and tilting over them.  “How the best way to go about this was. I think it would be good for us to talk to people, you know, professional people, together and separately-”

“Dad,” Kurt cut in, a knot in his stomach. “Can we just not, yet? Give me a moment. A couple of days. I need to-” He waved a hand. “Get used to the idea of this, or something.”

“Right,” Burt said, shrinking back in his chair. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. I’m just… grateful that you’re giving me a chance. I’ll shut up now.”

Kurt pressed his lips together and poured the milk into a couple of mugs. He pushed one across the island towards his father. “Here.”

Burt muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and raised the mug to his nose to breathe it in. His eyes slipped shut, a quiet smile lifting his face. He opened his eyes again and they glistened across at Kurt. “Just like your mom used to do it.”

Kurt raised the corner of his mouth. “Yeah.”

They drank their milk together in silence.

 

**

 

The following morning Kurt was walking slowly down the landing when he saw Finn’s door open, the faint crashes and shots from a video game emanating from within. Kurt swayed to a stop, staring at the line of light the door cast on the carpet. He twisted his hands together, picking at his already chipped nail polish, then stuffed his hands in the front pouch of his hoodie.

He inched up to the door, rapping it lightly with his knuckles to push it open. Finn was slouching against the headboard of his bed, one leg bent with the controller resting on it.

Kurt cleared his throat and dropped to lean against the doorframe.

“Hey,” Finn said, pausing his game and shifting back to sit straight.

Kurt gave a brief dip of his head.

There was a moment of silence, and then, “You can come in,” Finn said.

“Um, no, it’s fine,” Kurt said, curling one of his feet over the other. “I just wanted to say thank you. For helping Blaine.”

Finn smiled. “You know, it wasn’t just for Blaine. I mean, I would have done it if it was just for Blaine but-”

“I know,” Kurt said, on an exhalation. “I know what you mean.”

Finn picked his jeans. “So…”

“Look, Finn,” Kurt said, taking a deep breath. “I know you keep hoping for some kind of breakthrough, that this was some kind of rite of passage that we have to get across and then we’ll just be ‘brothers’ or whatever it is that you think we should be? Well, life isn’t like that. It doesn’t take one conversation, one act of good character. What you and your friends did fucked me up. I was in a shitty, shitty place, I had lost _everything_ , and you literally kicked me while I was down. I’m still dealing with the shit you put me through. I am not comfortable with you and I won’t be for a long time. But I’m going to be civil. Maybe the parroted claims of your mom are true; you have changed since then. Fuck knows I have. Just don’t ever, _ever_ push me again.”

“I won’t, man,” Finn said, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t anyway because you’re like, super scary.”

Kurt couldn’t help but push his shoulders back a little. “I am?” Kurt said.

“Yeah, dude. And you know I’m really sorry about that whole thing, right? I, uh, I told my mom the whole story.”

That familiar, uncomfortable squirm in Kurt’s stomach made itself known again. “You want a medal?” Kurt asked flatly.

“No, no,” Finn said, frowning. “Just, everything’s out in the open now. I really did want to do something to help you but I chickened out. Those guys are asses.”

Kurt snorted. “No shit.”

“I guess I just wanted to let you know that if that were to happen again - and it won’t! - But if it did, I would stop them.”

Kurt pursed his lips. “Uh-huh.”

“No really, I would.” Finn grinned at him. “So, we’re…friends?”

“You’re inexorable,” Kurt said. Finn looked confused. Kurt sighed. “Let’s start at distant acquaintances, okay?”

Finn beamed happily. “Sure, bro. Or, um, sure, _distant acquaintance.”_

Kurt rolled his eyes and stood up straight again. “I’m leaving now.”

“Oh, Kurt?”

“Yeah?” he replied, rotating back.

“You’re welcome.” Kurt quirked an eyebrow. “Uh, you said ‘thank you’? For the Blaine thing? Well, you’re welcome.”

Kurt lifted the corner of his mouth, sent Finn a nod, and turned back to his room.


	36. Chapter 36

_Four months later_

Kurt sat on the edge of Blaine’s bed, hands tucked under his legs and lips pressed together in a tight line, staring down at the floor. The shower was loud since the door to the bathroom was ajar, but all that Kurt could register was the lack of Blaine singing. 

The water stopped. Kurt swallowed and listened to Blaine pottering around in the bathroom. Even the way Blaine was working through his beauty regimen was subdued, measured clicks of glass pots on the sink and muffled snaps of lids instead of the usual exuberant clatter and clinking and humming that usually accompanied Blaine’s morning routine. 

Kurt got slowly to his feet and walked across the room, nudging open the door. He was enveloped by steam, and he blinked away the moisture and stepped into the room. Blaine was at the sink, a towel wrapped around his hips and another hanging around his neck, attempting to run a comb through his hair. His eyes flicked briefly to Kurt’s in the small area of the mirror that had been wiped, and Kurt just tilted his head to the side, twitching the corners of his lips up into the shadow of a smile.

“I wanted to wake up with you this morning,” Kurt said.

Blaine lowered the comb, watching Kurt in the mirror. “Think of it as practice.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, his name wrapped around a sigh.

Blaine shook his head, turning his eyes back to himself in the mirror. “Sorry.”

Kurt bit down on the inside of his cheek and the room stilled. Blaine didn’t even try and tug at his curls in that way that always made Kurt wince, he just stood there, looking small and vulnerable in just his towel, staring ahead as the condensed edges of the mirror gradually crept in to the centre until it was fully opaque.

Kurt inhaled a jagged breath and took the two strides across the bathroom to reach Blaine, curling his arms around Blaine’s damp body and plastering himself to his back. The comb clattered into the sink and Blaine gripped Kurt’s arms.

They stood together in the middle of the bathroom, each unwilling to move. Kurt closed his eyes and just held him. It would be six weeks before they could do this again.

Blaine twined his fingers through Kurt’s. “I’m gonna be fine, I know I am, I know _we’ll_ be fine, I’m just-”

“Me too,” Kurt said, pressing a kiss to the side of Blaine neck. “I know.”

He squeezed his arms around Blaine, and Blaine dropped his head back to rest on Kurt’s shoulder.

Blaine turned in his arms and leant back against the sink. “This is so exciting for you,” he said, sincerity etched into his voice. “I know how much you need this, need New York. I just wish we could do this together.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Kurt said thoughtfully, rubbing down the sides of Blaine’s arms. “What do you really want to do in New York? With me?”

“Uh, go up the Empire State at sunset? I always thought that would be really romantic.”

“Okay,” Kurt hummed, a far-off smile sweeping across his face at the perfect image of them in this very position looking out over the rooftops of New York, the rivers and buildings glittering in the sun. “Then I won’t go up the Empire State Building until we’re in New York together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. And anyway, the beauty of New York is that we’ll never be short of new experiences to have together. It’s not like Lima where you can be here for just half an hour and have seen everything. Including BreadStix.”

Blaine smiled wistfully. “I can’t wait. One year. One year and we’ll both have been accepted into NYADA.”

Kurt swallowed. “Let’s not…say that yet. Can we just leave it at one year and both in New York?”

“Kurt, you’ll get in.”

Kurt ducked his head, running his fingers down his throat. “My voice could be fucked.”

“I’ve heard you sing. Your voice is still stunning.”

Kurt’s cheeks flushed, pleased, but he shook his head. “You’re sweet, but we can’t know until I’ve had my first session with the vocal coach.”

“I already know,” Blaine said, smiling serenely. “And you gave up smoking entirely. Which, by the way, has the added advantage of making it much nicer to kiss you.”

“Yeah, because I really got the impression that you hated kissing me before,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes.

Blaine swatted at his arm. “Maybe I did!”

Kurt raised his eyebrows. 

Blaine grinned. “Okay, it wasn’t the _worst_. But really, I like it now. I can taste you and not just the smoke.”

Kurt wrinkled his nose. “I can’t decide if that’s gross or sweet.”

Blaine’s grin widened and he leant forward to kiss the underside of Kurt’s jaw, just in that exact spot that Blaine knew made Kurt fall apart. Kurt’s mouth fell open and eyes slid shut, presenting his neck to let Blaine press closer.

The pressure suddenly ceased and Kurt blinked his eyes open.

“Definitely the latter,” Blaine said. 

Kurt’s mind was foggy. “Wha-?”

Blaine waggled his head from side to side, a smug smile on his face. 

Kurt rolled his eyes again and pulled on the towel around Blaine’s neck to give him a gentle close-mouthed kiss.

He pulled back with a wince. “Never mind my smoker’s breath. You need to brush your teeth so I can make out with you.”

 

*

 

A couple of hours later and they were still avoiding it.

They were sitting side by side at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, hands interlaced and swinging gently while they sipped on the last of their coffee.

“I’m sorry you can’t come to the airport with me,” Kurt murmured, pulling up their hands to rest on his thigh, swiping his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles.

“It’s okay,” Blaine said. “I understand why.”

“It’s just really important to him,” Kurt said.

“I know,” Blaine said, turning to search out Kurt’s eyes. “Really.”

Kurt smiled softly. “Thanks.”

Blaine returned the smile but Kurt could see the strain behind it, could see how much effort was going into Blaine tethering himself together.

“Hey,” Kurt said, squeezing Blaine’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Blaine gave up trying to smile. “It’s going to be hard.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “It is. But we’ll work at it.”

He moved his hand from where it was curled around his now empty coffee mug to wind under their already clasped hands, enveloping Blaine’s hand completely.

“The year will fly by,” Kurt said, trying to enthuse some energy into his voice. “You’ll do so great in Glee Club, being featured soloists on all the songs, and you’ll win this year, I know it.”

Blaine’s smile was small, but real this time. “Thanks. I hope so. I’m sorry, I don’t want to bring you down. This is really exciting for you.”

Kurt gave a grim smile. “This is much harder than I thought it was going to be. I don’t want to leave you behind. I don’t want to leave Mom behind.”

“You don’t have to leave your mom-”

“Blaine, please,” Kurt said quietly.

“Okay,” Blaine said. “Okay. I just, I think it’s really brave what you’re doing.”

“And I think it’s really brave what _you’re_ doing,” Kurt said, leaning over to nudge Blaine’s shoulder with his.

“What am I doing?” Blaine asked, a frown pulling at his brow.

“Staying at Mckinley,” Kurt said. “Not going back to Dalton even though your mom offered.”

Blaine scoffed under his breath. “That’s not nearly the same thing.”

“Of course it’s not the same thing.” Kurt waved off Blaine’s protest. “That doesn’t make it not brave.”

Blaine’s smile returned,somewhere between pleased and floored. “I love you.”

The ache in Kurt’s chest shifted. He gripped Blaine’s hand harder. “I love you, too.”

The familiar clack of Blaine’s mother’s sandals sounded in the hallway and she appeared a moment later. “Hi, boys,” she said, breezing in and heading to the fridge.

They muttered their greetings, eyes still on each other.

“You all set for tomorrow, Kurt?” Anna Maria asked, head stuck in the fridge and completely oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. Kurt rolled his eyes. She and Blaine were so ridiculously similar.

“I think so,” he said. “Just a few more things to pack in my suitcase. I’ve shipped some things already. Some of my boots and books.”

“Oh, so the really important things,” she said, sticking her head around the fridge door, eyes twinkling.

“Exactly,” Kurt said with a sniff. He took a deep breath and turned to Blaine. “I should probably get going, though.”

Blaine pressed his lips together and nodded. They both got up and hesitated. Kurt twisted his hands, his heart sinking.

Anna Maria paused, glancing between them, then shut the fridge and skirted around the island. “I’ll leave you two to say goodbye, then.” 

She brought a startled Kurt into a hug. “Look after yourself, honey. I’ll miss having you around here.”

She patted him on the cheek, sent him one more smile, and left them alone in the kitchen.

Kurt cleared his throat and tried to blink away the burning behind his eyes.

“I’m not very good at saying goodbye,” he said thickly, his stomach now twisting.

Blaine watched him, his eyes red and shimmering. “Then don’t. How about ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow’?”

Kurt shook his head, a lump building in his throat. He stood helplessly still, didn’t know what to do.

Blaine stepped forward, head slightly bowed, and wrapped his arms around Kurt’s waist, pressing his nose into his neck. Kurt let out breath, the air catching in his throat, and flung his arms around Blaine’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly.

They rocked gently back and forth on the spot, and Kurt tried to memorise everything, the way their chests pressed against each other, the feeling of Blaine’s thumbs soothing at his waist, the smell of Blaine’s hair gel and cologne, the softness of his skin.

He reluctantly pulled back a fraction, but immediately pressed in for a fierce kiss, sliding his eyes shut and melting into Blaine. Blaine was just as desperate, curling his body into Kurt’s and tipping his head up a fraction to be closer.

When they pulled back they were both breathless. Blaine stroked across Kurt’s cheekbone, a soft smile on his face.

“Talk to you tomorrow?”

Kurt pressed one more kiss to Blaine’s lips, light and tender, and rested their foreheads together, breathing him in for just one more moment. He stepped away before he lost his nerve.

He took a ragged breath and smiled. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

 

*

 

There was a knock on Kurt’s door just as he was adding the last few pieces of clothing to his suitcase. Baa was still propped on his throw pillows on the bed, ready to be added in the morning.

“Come in,” Kurt said absently.

His father stepped around the door, letting out a breath as he looked around the room.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Kurt murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t believe we got here so fast,” Burt said, shaking his head.

Kurt nodded, smoothing down the cover of the bed in front of him. 

“Just yesterday you were skipping around here to that showtunes CD of your mom’s-”

“Dad,” Kurt interrupted. “Can we take a long diversion around Memory Lane, please? Plus, I have not skipped in my life. Ever.”

Burt raised his eyebrows.

“Whatever,” Kurt muttered. “The point is,” he said, raising his voice, “that I don’t want to look back right now.” He swallowed. “I’m not going to be able to leave tomorrow if I do.”

Burt sighed heavily. “Kurt, we talked about this with the Doc. You can’t run away from this. Look, I completely get why you’re going to New York. I respect that, and I’m proud of you. But this is still going to hurt when you’re there.”

“It’ll hurt a little less when I’m on Fifth Avenue getting breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“Kurt.”

“I know,” Kurt said, annoyed to find heat prickling behind his eyes and his throat tightening up. “Of course I know. I’m trying. I’ve been trying, haven’t I? I’ve been to all the appointments.”

“And that’s great, it’s really great,” Burt said. “I’m sorry, God, I’m bad at this, bud. I’m not making this any easier.”

Kurt raised his eyes to the ceiling, because, well, _yeah._

“I’ll miss you, is what I’m trying to say.”

Kurt took a deep breath. “Probably should have started with that then,” he said, sending his father a small smile.

Burt let out a breath of laughter, but Kurt saw a flicker of relief pass across his face. Relief that Kurt wasn’t going to hold it against him, Kurt realised. He chewed his lip.

“Tomorrow morning, on the way to the airport… do you think we could stop somewhere along the way?”

“Where do you want to go?” Burt asked.

Kurt wetted his lips nervously. “To the cemetery.”

Burt rested his chin on his knuckles. “Are you sure you want to go tomorrow? We already have to leave really early. We could go tonight.”

“Um, no, thanks. I’ll be quick. I want it to be the last place I go before I leave.”

Burt dipped his head slowly. “Would you mind, uh, would you like me to come in with you?”

“I think, um, not, this time,” Kurt said. He cleared his throat. “Maybe someday.”

Burt ran his hand over his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Kurt’s chest felt light and he ducked his head to hide his own, tiny, reflection of a smile.

 

*

 

Kurt got very little sleep that night. This was the last night in his home. The last night in his childhood home. After this, he would no longer be surrounded only by memories, but instead have to forge his own from nothing. Maybe it would be a relief not to have the presence of his mother everywhere. He squeezed his bleary eyes closed and curled up on his side, the silk scarf clutched in his hand. _No._

He lay there for hours, tears dampening his pillow and his stomach aching from trying to hold in wracking sobs. He wished with all his heart that Blaine was here, craved the warmth of his embrace and the security of his arms. But he knew that he wouldn’t have got up in the morning. He had to do this on his own.

His alarm went off at 3am, but he was still awake. He didn’t let himself think any more, just swung his legs around and sat on the edge of his bed. Flicking on the lamp on his nightstand, he started gathering all his remaining belongings, packing them carefully into his suitcase. After a brief moment of indecision, he tucked Baa away into the messenger bag he was going to use for his carry-on. He might need the support to step foot on the plane.

Before he knew it, he was done. There was nothing left to do but give the room a quick sweep, checking he had everything.

Fuck, could he do with a cigarette.

There was a soft knock on the door and Burt peered his head around, looking about as shattered as Kurt felt.

“You ready?” Burt asked, gruff and short.

Kurt nodded, not sure he could speak around the lump in his throat. He picked up his messenger bag and grabbed the handle of his suitcase.

“Thanksgiving, right?” Burt said. “At the latest.”

With difficulty, Kurt mustered a smile. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I promise.”

Burt nodded jerkily and pushed the door open. Kurt swallowed.

“Got the number of the landlady?”

Kurt nodded.

“Let’s go then.”

Clenching his hand around the handle of his bag, he walked out of his childhood room.

 

*

 

Downstairs, Carole was in the hall, sleep-rumpled in a long flannel robe. He had said goodbye to Finn the previous night, all awkward hand shakes and stilted well-wishes. But it was something.

Burt silently took Kurt’s bags from him and went to put them in the car, leaving the front door open. It was still dark outside.

Kurt fidgeted with the zip on his leather jacket.

“Here,” Carole said, turning to the side table and picking up a travel mug. “Some coffee for the journey. And I’ve made you some food for today as well. Make sure when you get to your apartment that the first thing you do is find the nearest store and buy some groceries. You’ll feel a lot better.”

Kurt blinked down at the travel mug and tupperware box. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Kurt repeated, staring down at the mug. He slowly took it from her, glancing up into her eyes. 

Slowly, he turned to go, but something stopped him and he turned back.

His gaze fell on the photos on the wall behind her, three happy faces, all taken in a past life. One particular photo caught his eye; his mother in a wide-brimmed hat, staring at the camera. Kurt, in a pale blue shirt and red bowtie, one hand in his mother’s and one clinging to the corner of Burt’s jacket.

He stared at the picture of his father, his stomach in turmoil. “Look after him,” he said quietly.

“I will,” she said, immediately. “I will.”

Kurt dragged his eyes back to Carole. “I’ve stocked up the fridge and the cupboards with all the heart-healthy stuff he needs but he’s gonna try and sneak stuff in, so watch out. And he has to keep up his exercise, and don’t let him work too hard-”

“Kurt,” Carole said gently, reaching to touch his arm. “I’ve got it.”

“Right,” Kurt said, slowly pushing out a breath. “Okay.”

Carole looked up at him and gave him a half-smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here. I know it was hard for you. And, well, I know it wasn’t for my benefit, but still. Thank you.”

Kurt started a shrug, but abandoned it, his shoulder falling limply. He cradled the travel mug in his hands close to his chest.

She gave a small sigh and Kurt bit his lip. He didn’t know if she was waiting for something or wanting him to do or say something, but he was done. He had nothing left for her. At least, for now, anyway.

“Look,” he said. “I’m sure you’re a nice person but-”

“Kurt, it’s alright, you don’t have to do that,” she said, flexing out her hand to stop him, her eyes sad but resigned. “It’s okay. You don’t have a place for me in your life. It is what it is.”

“Maybe some day? It’s just. This is a lot. It’s been a lot for a long time.”

“I know. I get it, I really do.” She patted his arm gently. “I’ll look after him as best I can.”

Kurt took a deep breath and sent her a small nod and the suggestion of a smile. “I appreciate that.”

She returned the smile and said, “Have a safe flight,” before slipping off back to the kitchen without another word. 

Kurt had never been more grateful to her.

He let his eyes linger over the photographs one more time. He knew he could come back, _would_ come back, but it would be different. This was it, and he only had one place left to go.

 

*

 

They arrived at the cemetery as it was getting just about light enough to see. The distant horizon was a pale, delicate pink, quickly filtering into a wide expanse of blue. 

Kurt slipped out into the cool morning air, leaving his father behind in the car and made his way down the path to his mother’s grave. Blue tradescantia, heavily laden down with dew, lined the edge of the path. Kurt leant down and plucked one flower from it’s root, holding the stalk carefully between his finger and thumb.

He reached the grave and laid the flower gently by the headstone, his breath catching in his throat. It was almost the exact colour of her eyes.

He lowered himself to perch on one of the larger rocks that lined the path. 

“Hi, Mom,” he whispered. “Sorry it’s a little early.” 

He took a deep breath. “I’m, I’m going away. For a long time. To New York.”

It was quiet around him, his choked voice the only sound in the graveyard. “I don’t know how I’m going to do that. You’re here, in all the places I know. Everywhere I’ve had to go on my own the past few years we’ve been there together at some point. I always had you there. 

“But you won’t be in New York. I have to, to _exist_ in this new place where we haven’t been. I don’t know-“ his voice cracked and tried to swallow but he couldn’t. His stomach contracted and he bent over himself, clutching his legs and pressing his forehead into his knees. His face scrunched up in a silent sob, a quiet high pitched whine seeming to come from deep within him. He balled one hand into a fist on his knee and rocked his forehead into it again and again, the other hand rubbing harshly through his hair.

He was never going to see her again. The sparkle in her eyes had already dimmed; her face was going to fade from his mind. She hadn’t been there at graduation, ready to jump to her feet and cheer when his name was called. She wasn’t here to see him off to college like she was supposed to, crying into Burt’s shoulder as they waved him off. She wouldn’t be there to attach the flower to his lapel at his wedding or smooth away any wrinkles or last-minute doubts. She wouldn’t be there to meet her grandbabies or tell them all about the silly things their Daddy did when he was little. She wouldn’t ever be there.

He shuddered and gasped around the pain, tears streaking down his face and he knew he was a mess but he didn’t care; he had to let it out. His breath stuck wetly in his throat and he pushed past it again and again, the hand in his hair running back and forth, back and forth over the top of his head.

“I love you, Mom,” he forced out, voice broken and words fractured by uncontrollable quivering breaths. “I want to make you proud.” 

He took a series of deep breaths and lifted his head. The air was sharp on his damp face. He wiped his face roughly, staring at the etched out name in front of him, his vision blurring every now and then as fresh tears squeezed from the corner of his eyes.

“I still don’t know how to say goodbye,” he whispered. He got to his feet. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

He reached into his pocket and carefully pulled out the silk scarf he had put in there earlier. He ran it through his fingers as he had done countless times before, the smooth fabric a familiar comfort against his skin. He lifted it to his nose and breathed it in and, as usual, only the gentle notes of the perfume were left woven through it.

With one more deep lungful of air, he reached forward and wrapped the scarf around the headstone. He tied it in a firm knot with shaking fingers, and let it fall away from him.

 

 

*

 

The rest of the car journey to the airport was quiet. Kurt sat low in his seat, the flat landscape blurring past the window. Exhaustion set in, and he must have slipped into sleep because before he knew it, he was being shaken awake.

He blinked his eyes open to find, with a jolt to his gut, that they were already outside the grey expanse of airport. People were rushing past, bags trailing behind them, the sound of the wheels loud as they hit the edge of the paving stones. Kurt shuffled back in his seat, clicking off his seat belt and letting his head fall back against the headrest and then drop to the side to face his father.

Burt was staring out to the front, unreadable.

Kurt watched him for a moment, then spoke. “I’m not running away.”

Burt turned to meet his eyes. “I know,” he said, with a frown. “I know that you need to go.”

Kurt dropped his gaze, his spine bowed and shoulders forward. “I don’t want to leave her behind.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be able to,” Burt said, with a simple shrug. “And you don’t have to. It’s not about leaving her behind; that’s not the goal here. I think it’s about understanding that she’s gone, but she’s in you, she’s a part of you, and she always will be.”

Kurt swallowed. 

“That’s not a bad thing, Kurt,” Burt said gently. Kurt looked up, taken aback. He didn’t think his father could read him that well. “It’s not like some great weight of responsibility you have to carry around. She’s your mom, all she ever wanted was for you to be happy. She’d be so, so proud of you for being brave enough to do this. This is what she wanted for you. You guys always used to talk about New York together, right? She was so excited for you. She would want you to grab your life by the horns and just live it.”

Kurt wiped away a tear that slipped from the corner of his eye.

 “I just, you need to know. You’re not disappointing her - or me - by leaving. The opposite, actually.”

Kurt bit his lip, nodding faintly.

There was a moment of quiet before Burt spoke again. “Just, give me a call whenever. Night or day. I know you have Blaine but if you’re feeling lonely or whatever in these first few weeks while you settle I’ll be here.”

“I’m used to being alone.”

“I know,” Burt said heavily. “But it doesn’t mean you have to be now.”

Kurt ran his nail down the side seam of his jeans, watching its path carefully. “I’ll call you.”

Burt pressed his lips together, head nodding. “I’d like that.”

“But I need space, too,” Kurt added quickly.

“Okay,” Burt said. “I can do that. But I need you to promise me one thing.”

Kurt folded his hands together in his lap and stared at them. “What?”

“That you always talk tosomeone.Be it me or Blaine or that new therapist in the city you’ve got the number of or some stray cat that turns up on your fire-escape, I don’t care, just, _someone_. You can’t bottle all this stuff up again.”

Kurt expected the familiar stab of hurt, but now it was dimmed, the aching ghost of past pain. “It wasn’t like I had options before.” 

Burt closed his eyes. “Kurt.”

“Right,” Kurt said. “I know. Sorry. It’s a reflex now.”

Burt was silent, staring out across Kurt at the entrance to the departure gates. His gaze fell back on Kurt. “You’re gonna do great.” His voice was thick.

Kurt met his eye and gave a tight-lipped smile. “I’m going to try.”

Burt nodded and let out a breath. “I guess this is it, then.”

Kurt lifted his chin and took a deep breath, gathering his energy. His stomach churned.

“You…you know you can call me too?” he said hesitantly. “You’re not alone either.”

Burt’s eyes misted over and he reached over to squeeze Kurt’s shoulder in his hand. He nodded at Kurt, sending him a wobbly smile. He opened his mouth to speak but then just shook his head, gesturing vaguely with his other hand.

Kurt gave a wet, short laugh, and shook his own head, smiling. “Okay, I’m going to go now.”

He opened the car door, leaving it open while he gathered his suitcase and messenger bag from the trunk. He went back, holding onto the door and looking in at his father.

“I’m real proud of you, kiddo,” Burt said gruffly.

Kurt’s chest expanded and he smiled, brightly, without thinking. “Thank you.”

Burt jerked his head towards the airport. “Go.”

Kurt ducked his head, still smiling, a lump in his throat but his heart buoyant and mind set.

He shut the door and took a few steps back, still staring into the car. He gave a short wave with the hand holding his ticket. “Bye,” he whispered.

Burt held up a hand in return, smiling. He brushed away a tear and motioned, with a roll of his eyes, for Kurt to get going.

Kurt nodded, running his eyes over his father’s lined face once more, and turned away. He dipped his chin and took a deep breath, hand flexing around his bag.

He set his shoulders and walked into the airport, searching out the signs of domestic departures. In a few short hours he would be shouldering his way through the busy streets of Manhattan, surrounded by people from every imaginable background. The lights of Broadway always there for the taking, the Empire State towering overhead. He found himself grinning as he walked with a new spring in his step, tears rolling down his cheeks, and a ticket to New York clutched in his hand.

 


	37. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks for everything, guys. Please do feel free to talk to me on tumblr at wheretheshadowslie. I would love to hear from you <3.

Kurt ran an appraising eye over himself in the mirror, twisting his body this way and that to make sure everything was lying correctly. His outfit had been painstakingly put together, each piece collected and analysed over the past few weeks, ever since he had got his audition date. But it still wasn’t right. He didn’t feel right, even though he had his sky blue socks on under his black boots.

A warm pair of arms slipped around his waist, the familiar press of a nose nuzzling at the back of his neck.

“S’early,” Blaine mumbled into his back.

Kurt smiled fondly and patted Blaine’s arms, before gently peeling away and out of his embrace. 

“Wrinkles,” he excused, smoothing down his shirt.

Blaine stood still, looking slightly confused. “I was supposed to wake you up with breakfast today, like you did for me and my audition yesterday. Did the alarm go off? I didn’t hear it.”

“No,” Kurt said, focussing now on his hair, prodding at his freshly dyed pink coif. “I turned it off when I got up. I couldn’t sleep. And you know I won’t eat anyway.”

“Coffee,” Blaine said, brightening. “I’ll get you coffee.”

Kurt smiled, then slowly moved his eyes to the steaming cup of coffee on the desk next to him.

Blaine frowned sadly at the mug. “Shoot.”

“I did have to fight for it though,” Kurt grumbled. “Rachel tried to force some ridiculous herbal nightmare on me.”

“Aw, poor Kurt,” Blaine cooed, turning the corners of his lips down.

“Yes ‘poor Kurt’!” Kurt insisted. “I still don’t know how on earth I ended up living with her.”

Blaine just grinned.

Kurt glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Blaine said, holding up his hands. “I’m just looking forward to next year. The three of us in this loft, all one happy family.”

Kurt rolled his eyes but quickly returned his gaze to Blaine, expression softening. “You are, you know.”

“What am I?”

“My family,” Kurt clarified. “You’re my family.”

Blaine’s eyes misted over and he reached for Kurt’s hand. “You too.”

Kurt bought their hands up between them and kissed the back of Blaine’s, rubbing it into his smooth skin with his thumb. “I can’t wait for this year to be over,” he said. “For every time we see each other to not be on a countdown. For you to come back here in a couple of months - having sung the solo that brings the house down at Nationals - and then you don’t have to leave again. Ever.”

“Ever? Do I get to go out to get coffee? Or go to class?”

“Well isn’t someone mighty confident that he got in to NYADA,” Kurt said with a smirk. “But yes, you are permitted to leave for classes.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Blaine said.

“I’m a very generous person.”

“Oh, I know,” Blaine murmured, with a small, delicious grin.

Kurt laughed, his eyes slipping to the mirror, drawn to a flash of blue. He saw, for the first time, that twinkle of a familiar smile staring straight back at him. Something slotted into place in his heart.

There was a knock on the door. Kurt held out a finger to Blaine to hold that thought, and slipped away to answer it. He slid open the huge metal panel to see Burt standing in the hallway, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a gift wrapped in garish paper.

“Hey,” Kurt said, surprised. “I thought we weren’t going to see you again until tonight.”

“Yeah, but, uh,” Burt hesitated. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Kurt said, stepping back. Blaine sent him a questioning look from the kitchen but Kurt just shrugged and turned back to his dad. He gestured over to the couch and sat at one end of it, waiting as Burt settled in an armchair. Burt ran his hands over the present sitting on his knees, crinkling the paper.

They sat in silence for a moment, until Kurt finally broke it.

“Dad? Um, I’ve actually got to be going soon, what did you want?”

“Right,” Burt said. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted to give you this before your audition.”

He handed the gift over to Kurt with a tentative smile.

Kurt turned the gift over and over in his hands. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Burt said. “I think the time is right.”

Kurt cocked his head with curiosity and began to unwrap it, looping his finger under the cellotape and tugging. He felt silk beneath his fingertips, saw a glimpse of duck-egg blue in amongst the paper. His breath caught in his throat.

He looked up at his dad, unable to say a word, then dropped his gaze back to the scarf, pulling it free of the paper. It was in an impossibly pristine condition.

“How?” he eventually managed to get out.

Burt cleared his throat. “Uh, well, after I’d dropped you off at the airport that day, I had half an idea of what you might have thought you had to do, so I stopped by the cemetery. Found it, cleaned it, kept it for when I thought you might find you want it again.”

Kurt held the fabric in both hands, running his thumbs reverently back and forth. “Why now?”

Burt shrugged with a gentle smile. “Because now you can think of your mom and smile.”

Heat prickled behind Kurt’s eyes, but he knew the tears would not fall. He looked down at the scarf, his heart lifting, and got up, moving across the loft back to the full length mirror.

 He unfolded the scarf and ran it through his hands, teasing out the creases, and wrapped it around his neck. He tied it in a knot at the side of his throat and let the ends trail loosely over his shirt. The pale blue-green of the scarf complemented the muted orange of his button down shirt perfectly.

Burt appeared behind him in the mirror, both hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

“I’ll get out of your hair and get back to my hotel, but I just wanted to give that to you. And wish you luck today, or, uh, break a leg.”

Kurt pivoted slowly to face him, fingers still brushing over the scarf. 

“Thank you,” he said, a little breathlessly. “For the scarf, I mean.”

They stared at each other, both shuffling on the spot, and then dropped their gazes.

“Oh, come here,” Burt said eventually, pulling Kurt in. Kurt blinked, and fell rather ungracefully into his father’s embrace, reaching his own arms tentatively around his dad and patting him on the back when he didn’t really know what to do.

Kurt stepped back quickly, his smile small but hopeful. Burt tried to stealthily wipe at his eyes. 

“Right,” Burt said, clearing his throat. “I’ll be off.”

Kurt nodded and watched Burt cross the room, send Kurt a smile , and let himself out of the loft. Kurt ducked his head, the smile growing along with a blossoming warmth in his chest.

Blaine sidled out from Kurt’s bedroom, now fully dressed, and made his way over to Kurt. He reached out for Kurt’s hand, and Kurt immediately threaded their fingers together.

“Okay?” Blaine asked, scanning Kurt’s face.

Kurt nodded, squeezing Blaine’s hand. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “I really am.”

Blaine grinned up at him, then leant up for a quick kiss, his hands gently cradling the sides of Kurt’s face. Kurt smiled into it, sliding his arms around Blaine’s waist to keep him there. Blaine made a pleased sound and opened up the kiss further, tilting his head and pressing closer. 

“Fuck.” Kurt pulled back, breathless. “I have to go.”

Blaine darted in to place a swift kiss to his cheek and stepped back. 

Kurt allowed himself a couple of seconds to gather himself and just breathe.

“You’ve got this,” Blaine said with a confident nod of his head.

Kurt tugged at the knot at his neck. “I think I do.”

The knot held firm.

 

*

 

“Name?”

“Kurt Hummel.”

“Age?”

“19.”

There was a short pause as the main interviewer looked up from her notes. Kurt swallowed.

“Before we start - a word on your appearance. Are you aware for most auditions there will be some form of dress code?  

“Of course.”

“And you are aware that you will be required to radically… tone down your image if you wish to at least be considered for most roles?”

“Of course,” Kurt said, slowly drawing in a breath. “But with all due respect, I’m auditioning as _me_. You want to see who I am and if I have what it takes. Well, this is me. This is Kurt Hummel.”

She regarded him for a moment then sat back in her chair with a small smile. “Song choice?”

“Being Alive from _Company._ ”

She gave a short nod and gestured to the pianist to start. 

Kurt took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to sing.

_Someone to crowd you with love,_  
_Someone to force you to care,_  
_Someone to make you come through,_  
_Who’ll always be there,_  
_As frightened as you,  
_ _Of being alive_

 


End file.
